


Ascension

by The_Blackstaff_and_NightMarE



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, F/M, Horror, Humor, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2020-12-07 13:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 275,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20976296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Blackstaff_and_NightMarE/pseuds/The_Blackstaff_and_NightMarE
Summary: Red had always loved dragons. He wanted them. He dreamed of them. He desperately awaited the day he'd get a charmander, something that would one day reign as a mighty charizard. Unfortunately Red ends up with something quite different. Something cute. Something... cuddly. In a world where size is power and innocence is weakness, it will take all of Red's power to survive. AU.





	1. Act 1 - Immolation | Chapter 1 - A Shocking Start

**Pallet Town Hospital**

"Get him to the operating room! We don't have much time."

His eyes were half-closed, his fingers lightly tapping the metal rails of the stretcher as he felt himself being rushed through a white door. Several people-clad in white- surrounded him speaking in hushed tones. His eyes traced the tubes connecting the bottles with colorful liquids to the needles stabbing through his skin. He felt strangely disconnected from his own body, almost like a spectator, as he watched the doctors work around him. Despite the rough treatment and the constant injections, there was no pain, a fact for which he was beyond grateful.

_How— how did it turn out like this?_ He idly wondered.

His fingers were slowly losing their sense of touch along with the rest of his body as he felt the tentative hold on his consciousness slowly fade away. He looked into the calming eyes of the doctor looking down upon him as yet another needle was gently slid into his body.

_I must look like a sandslash._

Picturing himself with his back full of spiky needles, he let out something between a giggle and a cough. Contrary to his grim situation, this strangely amusing thought was the last thing that crossed his mind.

* * *

**A week ago**

"Congratulations, Red." Professor Oak beamed, handing over a printed document, "you passed your trainer certification exam with honors. You are now eligible to be a pokémon trainer."

This was Professor Samuel Oak, revered all over the world as the 'Pokémon Professor'. An undefeated Champion for over eighteen years, Samuel Oak had decided to leave the world of pokémon battling and change his career, much to the shock of the rest of the world. He had willingly stepped down from the throne, allowing the previous Champion Calem to take over the reins.

He had progressed into the world of research, leading the world through several important discoveries, his most well-known invention being the pokédex technology. Once a ruler of both the Kanto and Johto sub-continents and now a researcher who single-handedly built the world's largest Pokémon research network, Oak was a living legend, a model for trainers and researchers alike. He had come out of nowhere, sweeping through the pokémon world and ending up as champion for the next twenty years. Then, he had given it all up and taken pokémon research as his new passion and sunk into it wholeheartedly. And reached the top again.

Today, Samuel Oak was like a massive tree, with most of the Kanto mainland under his shade and his roots spread across the entire world. A man, who had found power, fame, and wealth and yet had chosen to spend his time in such a humble location.

A man who was currently—

"Old man, stop pinching my cheek!"

The old professor pinched said cheeks a little harder for good measure. "Come now Red, don't spoil my fun. In a few days, you'll be gone on your own journey, leaving this old man all alone."

"Yeah, yeah," The teen rolled his eyes at the overly dramatic gestures, and crossed his arms. "Stop trying to manipulate me into staying back as a research apprentice. I'm not falling for that."

The old professor had the decency to look away in embarrassment. "Was I that obvious?"

Red rolled his eyes, "Duh!"

Oak chuckled. "Can you blame an old man for trying? You'd really be a good researcher, just like your mother." He puffed his chest up in mock-haughtiness. "Besides, most people would give their right arm to work under the great Samuel Oak."

Red pulled himself away, absently rubbing his cheeks. "I'd rather follow the path of Samuel Oak the champion and not the professor. How about this. Make me the offer once I'm the champion. Then I'll consider it."

Oak rolled his eyes at his grandiose response. "Arrogant brat," he muttered, good-naturedly. "You should be getting your pokédex and your Trainer ID by Monday."

"The Pidgeotto Mail service then?"

Oak nodded.

The cheapest form of long-ranged transportation was the Kanto Mail Service, an organization that bred and maintained several hundreds of pidgeotto under their care and trained them to transfer mail and objects from one city to another. Easily affordable and widely available, this service was integrated into the cultural aspect of the Kanto mainland. For those who found pidgeotto too slow for their purposes, there existed a secondary, high-speed version, which involved pidgeot instead of their younger forms. A third transport system functioning through psychic teleportation did exist, but it was far too expensive for the average trainer.

"Does that mean I get to pick a charmander from the ranch?"

Oak chuckled. "No, it doesn't. You are going to have to wait until your pokédex arrives. You will then be given a choice between the three starters, out of which—"

"Charmander, " Red interrupted him, an obstinate gleam in his eyes, "Not one of the three starters. A _charmander_."

"Of course, that's what I meant," Oak rolled his eyes. "In that case, you should be happy to know that the newest batch of sanctioned starters will probably arrive next week as well."

"By Monday?"

"Mmmm, not quite, but you should have them before Thursday, I imagine."

Red bit his lip, an expression of annoyance filtering past his countenance. "Come on, old man. Why can't you just let me take one from the ranch? What about one from the new litter born from that charizard with a scarred left cheek?"

"Because the litter are babies, not starters. A charmander needs to be capable enough to use at least two basic-tier moves to be considered a starter. Nothing short of that will do."

"But why can't you just give me a baby?" Red demanded stubbornly. "I don't care about a starter. I'll be happy to accept anything from the ranch as long as I can get a charmander along with it. I swear."

"You know I cannot do that." The old man replied softly. Red often had tunnel vision when it came to his obsessions, and unfortunately, charmander was one of them. "As your sponsor, it is illegal for me to grant you multiple pokémon right off the bat. Catching your first pokémon with your starter is a unique experience, one that you should experience. Besides, you are not… experienced enough to take care of a baby."

Red arched an eyebrow. "What about the dozens of—?"

"While journeying as a trainer." Oak finished, shutting the boy up. "Taking care of them at the ranch is different from caring for an egg while on a journey. Maybe when you have accomplished a little on the gym circuit and have caught a good number of pokémon yourself, I'll think about it."

Red pouted at that. "You are just making it sound difficult."

Oak's lips curled. "Really? What happens if you encounter rogue pokémon?" His tone shifted from affection to complete seriousness. "Why back in my day, several trainers suffered from… unfortunate accidents on their journey, either because their starters were simply too weak to begin with, or because they challenged a wild pokémon and their starters ran away. At least the League now has a minimum competency level for starters."

"Don't get all nostalgic, old man." Red rolled his eyes. "We both know that you were the one who set up the starter system."

"I proposed the starter system. It was agreed upon after Lance took over the reins."

"Semantics." Red let out a long-suffering sigh. "And even so, stop trying to do that to me, old man." He crossed his arms in an attempt to look more intimidating—or as intimidating a fourteen-year-old could be. "Shutting people up through logic is my gimmick. Your thing is to just float around, uncaring of the world, and then drop tenets of wisdom on unsuspecting trainers."

"It is, isn't it?" Oak chuckled, smiling through his eyes.

"Yeah, that and trying to misguide little youths into becoming boring research apprentices, instead of following their dreams and living the grand life."

The old professor laughed heartily. "I'm going to miss this. Why couldn't Gary be a bit more like you ..."

Red sighed. Gary was the 'honorable' grandson of the reverend Samuel Oak, and saying that his relationship with Gary was skewed, would be an understatement. Anyone would probably think that he and Gary would be best buddies, considering that Red's mom Delia worked as the professor's assistant at the lab, and as such, Red and Gary had practically been raised together.

That couldn't be farther from the truth.

While it was true that he and Gary had been friends back in Little Tuft Elementary for a few years, this friendship had gone downstream ever since. Delia was a single mother, but she made it no secret that her work was her greatest passion, keeping her away from home most of the year. This along with the fact that Professor Oak found little Red Ketchum fascinating, had resulted in him spending more and more time at the ranch.

Judging from how Gary's behavior had changed since then, he had obviously not taken it very well. In all possibility, Gary felt that he was being replaced by Red, and had never forgiven his grandfather for it. Over the next couple of years, Gary's demeanor had grown bitter (in relation to Red), and he had begun to demonstrate a sense of _superiority _over every other kid at school. Between his natural talent, his exuberant attitude, and his position as _Grandson of the Oak, _the entire town bent backward to fuel his sense of entitlement.

Samuel Oak was one of the richest men in the entire world. Pallet Town itself was sort of a project created by Oak—a small town amidst forests and hills, where the reverend professor could research in solitude. However, unlike the senior Oak who wore his wealth lightly, Gary had embraced his status as the _richest kid in town _with pride. He had soon found himself as the center of attention, almost perpetually surrounded by admirers, henchmen and cheerleaders alike. Red might have preferred the calm serenity of the ranch but Gary thrived in the attention and adulation of the masses.

"You realize that his boisterous behavior is just a facade, right?"

Oak chuckled mirthlessly.

Red shook his head. "It's practically written on his face. He's got this… formal thing with you. He only meets Daisy on weekends for lunch, and from what mom told me, his only conversation with his parents—" He stopped abruptly, realizing that he had stepped into an uncomfortable zone. After all, Gary's parents were Oak's own children.

Oak nudged him gently. "You are not going to upset me, Red. Always speak your mind."

Red frowned. "What I mean is, he only talks to his parents when he needs something."

"It cannot be helped." Oak sighed. "Evan is obsessed with his work. Showering him with presents is practically the only way he knows to show appreciation to a child."

"You're preaching to the choir, old man," Red muttered. Gary's parents were traveling researchers who worked for the Aether Foundation in Kalos, leaving Gary and Daisy to be parented by the old professor as long as he remembered. Then again, his own condition wasn't very different, with his mom spending most of her time at the lab or with Professor Ivy at Seafoam"

"It doesn't really matter." He spoke, more to himself than to anyone else. "Me and Gary are acquaintances at best, and rivals at worst. But enough about that, I thought you were sending him to Technical School?"

"He turned it down."

Red mentally grumbled. Trust Gary to turn down an offer from Pokémon Tech Academy.

"Does that surprise you?"

"Not very much," Oak admitted. "Though I hoped a few years away would help him get out of his shell."

"Three years from Pallet Town?" Red whistled. "You should have done that earlier. Life would be so much easier without— ."

"Stop that." Oak snapped good-naturedly.

"What? Three years of Gary not being a pain in my ass is such a—"

"Language."

Red stuck out his tongue in return.

Oak shook his head in amusement. The rivalry between Red— the overly helpful kid that lived on his ranch, and Gary, the prodigal son of his legendary family, was practically the talk of Pallet Town. Regardless of their personal awkwardness, Red and Gary had consistently been the top scorers in every exam so far, and if he were honest with himself, Gary had pretty much done all he could to ensure that Red had an insular life of the 'smelly-kid downtown'.

And that was because Gary had the bright idea of inviting people over when Red had been helping Oak with the rearing of a very temperamental group of Tauros.

"Anyway, you should probably get going soon. I'm sure Delia must have planned something special for you today, right?"

Red let out a world-weary groan. "Get up to speed, old man. You sent mom off to Ivy yesterday."

Samuel blinked. Then blinked again. "Ah, yes, sorry I forgot. It comes with old age, I suppose. Now, if only I had someone to help with—"

"Get Daisy to do it."

Oak blinked.

"Your other grandchild. You know, the not-so-conceited one that helps you in the lab?"

" I know who Daisy is, thank you very much." The old man answered. "Well, if you have nothing else to do, why not have lunch with me? At Pineco's perhaps?"

Pineco's was the name of a general restaurant that belonged to the Ketchum family and was one of the biggest in all of Pallet Town. Originally it belonged to Delia's uncle, who had passed the ownership deed to her after his untimely death. The restaurant had its own manager and working staff, and as far as Red was concerned, an endless source of free food.

"Right. I suppose you're gonna _treat_ me there, huh. I didn't know you were such a miser."

Oak rolled his eyes. "They charge me twice the average customer."

"As they should." Red defended religiously.

Oak sighed."Whatever. Are you coming or not?"

The teen seemed to consider it for a moment, before waving it away. "Nah… I'll just grab some lunch from the restaurant on the way back. Mia is waiting for me back at home. I told her I'd be back by noon and she'll just sulk for hours if she thinks I forgot about her."

Mia was a cute little kirlia, who had joined their family some eight years ago. The overly inquisitive ralts had been one of the extras in a study that Delia was involved with over the Gardevoir line. As far as Red was concerned, she was his loving, albeit slightly obsessive, younger sister who played with him, kept him company and was the most prominent presence in his entire life. Even more than his own mother, who was her legal trainer. In fact, he was pretty sure that if it came to it, Mia would listen to him over anyone else.

Despite being a full-fledged psychic, Mia had never once demonstrated the slightest interest in advancing her skills. He'd know. After all, they were practically family. Unlike his mom's Alakazam, who went by the name Kaz and had modeled himself into a researcher like Delia, Mia was closer to Red in behavior and mindset.

"Ah… Mia. Still sulking over your decision to travel, huh?"

Red opened his mouth in surprise to say something, but decided better. Letting out a world-weary sigh, he looked at the professor. "I'd have asked her to join me on my journey, but you know how much she hates violence. She cries at the smallest amount of pain."

"You'd reject her because she's not a combatant?" Oak asked curiously.

"No," Red seemed a little depressed. "I'd reject her because she would agree to be a combatant. I know Mia. If she saw my team training hard for me and winning battles, she'd strive to do the same, regardless of how much she abhors it. I don't want Mia to get hurt."

"I see."

Red sighed. "I've been conflicted about it." He looked up at the man in front of him, the man he looked up to. "What do you think I should do?"

"Sometimes, if you don't want to lose someone, you may need to keep your distance " The professor murmured, almost to himself. "I know it hurts, but it is the right approach."

"Is that… from experience?" Red could not help but picture the professor's oddly formal behavior when it came to Gary, and his own family.

"No," The man replied with a soft smile. "It's a way of life."

* * *

**An hour later**

"KIRL!"

Like any other sensible person facing an overwhelming force, Red buckled up in surrender, raising his hands, and pulled himself away. That however, did not save him from being pummelled. Bringing his hands to his face to stop the accidental smack, he groaned, "Yes, yes, I know, I'm late, but that's only because the old man's tauros herd went all crazy and began racing all over town."

A neutral observer would have commented that such a lame excuse was useless. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on what angle you were looking for, it worked. Or rather, every excuse worked. As far as Red was concerned, everything that he spoke was taken with absolute seriousness by his adorable little sister.

Which would probably explain why the kirlia had dropped all traces of anger, and was channeling pure anxiety that she was feeling right now from imagining the aftermath of a tauros rampage.

It took a significant amount of will to keep himself from facepalming. Sighing, he went on. "and then those tauros triggered a huge earthquake in the shopping district, right when I was shopping for some pastries for my cute little Mia."

"Kirl!" She almost seized up at that, staring at him wide-eyed.

Red almost felt sorry for her, nay, for himself. How the hell had he managed to raise up something so adorably naive?

"—and the takeout fell out of my hands because of the tremors, and I had to wait for the shopkeeper to make something else for me."

Mia sighed. At least nothing too extravagant happened. Getting up, she slowly ruffled up Red's hair. It was her way of soothing him, telling him that everything was okay, since he was safe and sound.

"Oh no, that wasn't all," He continued with a fake grimace. Had Mia been a little more observant, she'd have noticed his left eye twitch madly as she swallowed his bullshit so seriously. Really, what would it take for the little thing to develop a teeny tiny bit of skepticism?

_I'll get her to see through my act today._

"Li?" Mia asked, surprised at the fact that there was more. She quickly glanced at Red's form to reaffirm her theory about his sound physical state.

"You see, that earthquake had woken up a wild snorlax in the forest west of the district,"—_come on, even she should know that there are no forests on that side—_"and it went berserk, and started rampaging all over the place. The shopping district was completely devoid of people after that."

Mia, it must be noted, was hanging on every single word that came out of his mouth, and constantly cursing herself for choosing to take an afternoon nap when Red had been escaping what had obviously been a major catastrophe. She hadn't realized she was such a heavy sleeper, to have slept through something like that—but it had been so warm and cozy and she had danced earlier in the morning and—

"Mia, you are biting your nails again."

Mia had the decency to look sheepish. She had a habit of biting into her nails when tensed about something. Though knowing her, Mia could go from serenity to hysteria in a matter of seconds, as far as Red was concerned. Clearly, she had a primeape ancestor somewhere up in the line.

Red went on. "And then they apparently started throwing Hyper Beams everywhere, destroying the entire place. One of those beams hit an alakazam who was wandering down the road. Irritated, the alakazam teleported the snorlax all the way to Sevii."

He paused for a moment, his left eye madly twitching now. "I waited and looked around to see if there were any human habitation left, but the entire district was destroyed. I had no choice but to walk all the way to Pineco's to get a standard lunch," he paused again and let out a deep, apologetic sigh. "I'm sorry, I couldn't bring you your pastries, Mia."

Mia wouldn't have cared if a real snorlax had entered the room and began singing a nursery rhyme. Her face had been flooded with utter horror, her eyes blank, her hands shaking, and her mind unable to comprehend just how close she had been from losing Red. All of that because she had wanted him to get her pastries for lunch.

Mia started crying. Loudly.

_Oh, come on. _Red inwardly groaned. _At this rate, she'll be fifty before she finally gets sarcasm. How's she gonna survive out there?_

He sighed. "All right, come on now. I'm here, and unhurt, right? Just come—" The rest of his words died down in his throat as the little Mia dug into his chest, sobbing without restraint. Red chuckled, caressing her head with his right hand. "Cheer up, I was just kidding. Just kidding. None of that happened in the first place."

"Li?" The little fairy looked up in bewilderment.

"I give up!" He sighed, "here, I got you your pastries."

Mia crooked her head.

The possibility of Red lying about it didn't even register in her mind. After all, speaking the unvarnished truth was simply a matter of common sense. Why would anyone say anything but the truth?

_How can someone be so naive and yet so damned cute? _Red mused. _No, bringing her along would be a very bad idea. Perhaps when she's older... and has matured a bit?_

"I'm not lying. See?" He pulled out a food packet from the cloth bag lying on the floor. "See? I even got you the puffed rice dumplings you like so much and—"

Mia had already snatched the bag of pastries from his fingers and was biting into them, with the expression of someone tasting water after spending months lost in a desert. Even he had to chuckle at the sight. It wasn't unusual, since Mia loved pastries. Scratch that, the tiny little thing could turn into a monster with a bottomless stomach when it comes to pastries. It was moments like these that made him wonder if owning a fast-food restaurant was what had kept Red and his mom from being rendered outright broke.

_Perhaps I should thank the working staff next time I see them._

"Like it?"

"Liiiiiiiiiii!"

"I'll take that as a yes."

Red watched her with a thin smile. It would not last long. Soon, he'd be gone and would only see Mia from time to time when he called from a city or two. He could only hope that she'd make it through alright.

"Mia?"

"Mmmmm..."

"There is… something I wanted to tell you about.

"Li?" The kirlia crooked her head, instantly tuning herself to Red, her burst of absolute happiness vanishing in an instant as she felt herself getting lashed by the myriad of emotions that Red was feeling that very moment. Happiness, sadness, tranquility, doubt, melancholy, acceptance… Fear?

_Right. Knew she'd sense it._

Red sighed. Honestly, he didn't have the heart to tell her about it. He really didn't want to deal with another Mia-tantrum too, knowing just how emotionally-manipulative the little fairy could be. First would come that sullen gaze and teary eyes that would guilt him into giving her whatever she wanted. If that didn't work then she'd ignore him, while giving him little glances when she thought he wasn't looking, all the while pretending that Red kicked puppies for fun.

_Maybe… Maybe I'll tell her tomorrow._

"Lia?" The kirlia asked out loud.

_Oh well. _He came to a decision. "Well, it's like this. The old man told me about my test results. I aced the theory, though Gary beat me by two points in the practicals."

Mia leaped off the floor and gave an excited little twirl. Seriously, it seemed like she was overcompensating for his own lack of reaction to things.

"The results will be due on Monday, and post that, I'll be heading for my trainer journey."

He took a deep breath.

"And I decided not to take you with me."

Mia stopped, mid-waltz, as if she had been petrified by some unseen power. Slowly, she turned her gaze at her favorite human, staring into his eyes, as if trying to gaze into his soul for a reaffirmation.

Red met her gaze.

"Li." The kirlia muttered, drooping her shoulders, and caused a harsh, silvery wind to blow around her. Red instantly brought his hands before his face to keep the wind off, but by the time he looked up in front, Mia had vanished.

_I suppose… that could have been dealt with better._

* * *

Red stood atop Mt. Hideaway, staring at the lush green hill station that was Pallet Town. The mountain wasn't even that tall— a little over an hour and one could get to the top and stare down at the entire town that delved on its slopes. The results had finally arrived, and the professor had claimed that they'd all be getting their starters the next day.

_Just one more day between me and my journey._

Come to think of it, this entire time he had been thinking about how it'd be, leaving Pallet Town, leaving the ranch, leaving Mia and… leaving his mom to journey across the Kanto mainland by himself. Now, as the event was merely a day away, he found himself looking at the other side of the equation.

For Red Ketchum, the world was pretty much divided into two types of individuals— those who mattered, and those who didn't. The ones who really mattered were the old man himself (regardless of how crass he behaved with the professor) and Mia. Everyone else had been, just _there. _Kaz had been there, and he had often helped him out of a number of tough situations, but his aloof attitude had prevented Red from establishing a closer relationship with the psychic. Then again, children would often emulate their parents, and Delia had practically been a mother to Kaz, teaching him ever since he had been a little abra. Now a strong alakazam, Kaz was Delia's assistant, helping her with her personal research on psychic pokémon. On the days he'd be free, he'd be somewhere around the town, levitating and pondering over the mysteries of the universe. As for his mom…

_I wonder… what mom would think about it. Knowing her, she'd probably be disappointed that I rejected Oak's proposal._

To say that his relations with his mother were complicated was something of an understatement. Delia loved him, no doubt about it. She'd do anything and everything to ensure that he was happy, and gave him a healthy bout of freedom along with enough pocket change to make an impulsive buy or two. The Ketchums weren't exactly wealthy, but they weren't poor either. The old man funded Delia enough to not really bother about money in the first place and the restaurant was a prime asset too. On top of that, her acting as a delegate between Oak, and Professor Felina Ivy of the Seafoam Islands helped put more in the bank

What she could never give Red, was _time. _He liked to think that his mom wholeheartedly dedicated every inch of her free time to him, but considering that she was juggling what was technically three jobs at the same time, the allotted free time was mostly limited to a couple of days a month. At times, Delia would be away to the Seafoam Islands for weeks on stretch, and there was a time when she had to leave Kanto for the better part of two months, leaving Red and Mia alone.

_And then Gary thinks that…. _He chuckled mirthlessly, staring down at the peaceful town beneath. A little thought slid through the emotional cesspool that was his mind. _The grass is always greener on the other side, I suppose._

"_Feeling an impulse to jump?"_

Almost out of instinct, Red pushed himself backward, away from the precipice. No matter how many times it happened, it was always startling to feel a voice enter your mind.

"_Looking from above disrupts one's mental image of reality. It makes you want to get back into the sense of normalcy that existed back when you were on the ground. It is actually a studied phenomenon ."_

Red let out a sigh. "Is there any reason why you're here all of a sudden, Kaz?"

The alakazam did not bother to reply. Instead, it released the two spoons from either hand, allowing the silver instruments to levitate at shoulder level, while he himself floated in a cross-legged posture.

"Well?"

"_I was here first."_

"Of course you were." Red gave him a wry grin. "I'm surprised you are goofing around at this place, and not doing… whatever it is, that you do with mom."

"_Mother only asks for my aid when she is in need of it. Perhaps that is why I find myself playing babysitter to organisms of questionable mental capacity from time to time."_

Kaz referred to Delia as 'Mother'. She had told him endlessly to call her by her name, but it had fallen on deaf ears. As mentioned, psychics were funny like that.

"_Also, considering that the little energy-ball's emotions are all over the place, I thought it might be better to speak with you, seeing that you are the only one with any semblance of control on that hyper-excited little thing."_

Red rolled his eyes. "Mia's being a complete mess about it, isn't she?"

"_She is like you. What do you expect?"_

Unsure if it had been a backhanded compliment, or a straight insult, he decided to ignore it. "You know I cannot take her with me, and I don't really want to stay here and become an apprentice."

"_I will inform Mother that you have made your decision, though I had of course, seen it coming."_

"What about it? Was mom interested in me becoming a trainer?"

"_She was expecting that you'd agree to the professor's offer. She had a contract with Ivy, about sending you to a master-breeder in Johto for studies, followed by a Journeyman of three years under apprenticeship of Professor Ivy and Oak," _Kaz paused, "_she was hoping to spend some more time with you if you could accept the offer."_

"Nah… It's a trainer's journey for me. I only hope that I could take Mia with me, but she'd be in danger. Perhaps when I'm a little experienced and she's a little older, I can…"

"_I presume the energy-ball isn't listening."_

"She never does."

"_Well, you are not of her kind. They say blood is thicker than water, but you and Mother still agree to disagree. The energy-ball is, after all, just a—"_

"My _sister." _Red interrupted the psychic, stressing over the last word. "If there is anyone I care about—"

The alakazam raised his hands upwards, and the spoons re-entered his palms. "_And this is why I do not pretend to enjoy discoursing with you"_

"Whatever…" The teen muttered, looking away. "Anyway, I still have a day, right? Tomorrow I'll get my starter, and I'll convince Mia to understand. It's going to work out. Somehow."

The alakazam darted a furtive glance at him but never said anything.

* * *

**The next day**

"Really Red, for someone who knows this place inside out, you're practically tip-toeing. You need to strut."

Red rolled his eyes at his companion's words. Walking beside him were Leaf and Ethan, and all three of them were supposed to get their starters from the old man together. Gary, true to his moniker, had flown all the way to _Kalos _the other day so that he could have a rare starter to show off. He was yet to return, so his starter's identity was somewhat of a mystery. Truth be told, Red was slightly envious about it.

"I work here, Ethan. I don't own this place." He replied quietly, watching the professor's staff perform their daily errands. Becky managed most of the menial tasks, though the more… unpleasant ones were taken care of by Tim, who normally stayed close to the tauros herd.

_I should be helping out there. I wonder where Arcanine is. I haven't seen that big baby since last week._

Ethan wasn't wrong. Red knew this place inside out. Despite being the youngest person working in what was possibly the largest private ranch in the entire Kanto-Johto mainland, he knew almost everything there was to know about this place. He knew where the nesting mothers of the Nidoran herd usually stayed, where the water-types usually rested and how to get the attention of the large Tauros herd— one of the ranch's more interesting groups.

Apparently, several years ago, a trainer had been to the Fuchsia Safari and managed to capture a tauros every time he threw a pokéball. Said trainer had proved incapable of taking care of more than a single one of the herd, which resulted in the ranch being gifted some thirty prime specimens.

_And people say that money can't solve your problems. _Red mused wryly.

Red looked around. Further south towards the edge of the forest, was the nidoran herd. He thought back to Oak's gigantic specimen of an arcanine who could scatter the rampaging herd with a single Fire Blast. In fact, most of Oak's pokémon acted as leaders and protectors for the ranch creating their own micro-environment and hierarchy. The caves high up near Mt. Hideaway was home to the professor's colossal dragonite and smaller, but no less deadly charizard with the latter often coming down to spar with some of the more healthy rhydon that lived in the lower slopes.

They were monstrously powerful and utterly terrifying.

"Rethinking your decision, Red-eyes?"

Red was shaken out of his reminiscence, though this time, it was Leaf who had initiated the conversation. Leaf's father owned a greenhouse on the hill adjacent to Mt. Hideaway and was a business associate of Erika, the Celadon City gym leader. She had taken after her father, and wanted to become a grass-type breeder, but before all that, she wanted to score some experience, and become a trainer for a single year. It didn't really make a lot of sense, but quarreling with Leaf was a bothersome activity.

"In your dreams." Red retorted.

"I assure you, you aren't part of my dreams." Leaf quipped.

Red decided to reply back in the most dignified way possible. By sticking out his tongue at her.

Leaf laughed.

"Well, I want something that grows into an epic beast, like a charmander or a squirtle. It doesn't really matter which." Ethan declared pompously.

"As long as you stay away from my charmander, you'll be fine. Or else, I'll send the tauros herd after you the next time I find you sneaking around here." Red warned, though it was obvious that he was teasing. It wasn't like the league sent the professor just a single specimen of the starters or anything. After all, choosing a starter was one of the most magical experiences of a trainer's life, and forcing them to choose one on a first come first served basis was ridiculous.

Laughing at each other's antics, the three prospective trainers entered through the old professor's office.

* * *

He should have seen this coming.  
  
Red had sensed something different in the professor's tone and movement. The man was being all wordy and spending too much time asking all the irrelevant questions when it was clear that the trainers would like nothing better than to meet their starters. If nothing else, the fact that the old man refused to meet his eye should have been a sure give-away.  
  
And yet, he hadn't really seen it coming.  
  
"...tell me again why I can't have a charmander?"  
  
The old professor stared at him with crinkled eyes and a half-hearted smile. "Because of an international mass-research experiment going on in Kalos right now. The League has sent all the approved Kanto-starters— bulbasaur, squirtle, and charmander —off to Kalos a fortnight ago. It's on a… need-to-know basis, and I wasn't made aware of it beforehand."  
  
"But you are Samuel Oak," Red answered hotly.  
  
"And I am not part of the Kalos experiments or the Aether Foundation."  
  
"Your son is, and that's probably why Gary's off there to get a _real _starter, while the rest of us will end up with a stupid nidoran or a zubat or something."  
  
"I can assure you, that if going to Kalos would have gotten you a charmander for a starter, I'd have gotten you one. And while Gary is getting a rare starter, acquiring one of the Kanto-trio is out of the question, even for him."  
  
"If you say so," Red muttered.  
  
"I have a suggestion. Why don't you just accept one of the starters that arrived this morning? Be assured that the League only picks capable pokémon for starters. Meanwhile, I'll send you a charmander from the litter at the ranch, as soon as it grows strong enough. You may even catch a wild one on your own."  
  
"They are charmander, not growlithe." Red growled, before stepping back. As enraged as he was, he wasn't about to blame the old man for it, no matter how much he wanted to yell and curse about the unfairness of it all.  
  
"Either way, I think I'll take this moment to introduce the starters for this season. So, here they are." He proceeded to drag a table towards him and picked up a tray containing three pokéballs on them. "Now I have three starters that were sent here by the League for the current trainer candidates. They're… different from the usual, so I'll just introduce them on the go."  
  
He picked up the first pokéball and released the pokémon within. It looked like a meshwork of vines coiled around each other, with a pair of padded feet protruding out from the bottom, and two white eyes blinking through the vine lattice. Some of the vines were even moving around on their own as if amused for some reason.  
  
"This is Tangela, a grass-type. It evolves into tangrowth, and is regarded as one of the most efficient grass-types in the Kanto region. Surprisingly powerful when evolved, they can inflict tremendous damage in combat. Their vines are quick to regenerate so you can use a tangela to experiment when you are faced with an unknown opponent."  
  
Leaf cooed at the little thing and crouched down to her knees, touching the tangela on the vines above its eyes. The little thing gurgled and lifted a single vine, before gently poking at the girl's forehead in return. She was obviously not paying attention to the professor.  
  
Ethan rolled his eyes at the gesture.  
  
"Hehe!" The girl laughed. "It's so cute. I'll take it, professor."  
  
"You haven't even met the others," Oak replied with an amused exasperation.  
  
"Doesn't matter. Tangela is the one for me. Please professor, can I keep her?" Leaf begged, giving out the impression of a child asking her parents to allow her to keep a stray growlithe.  
  
"Sure." The old man drawled. "It is your right to choose your starter after all."  
  
The tangela in question gurgled again, as the professor returned it back to the pokéball before handing it over to her. "Remember to collect your pokédex from me before you leave."  
  
Leaf gratefully accepted the pokéball from the esteemed professor, before taking a step backward, allowing the older man stage to continue with his demonstration.  
  
"The next one, is the water-type, staryu." Oak released the pokémon, who looked like a starfish, with a single gem in the center. "It's fairly uncommon unless you are used to deep sea-diving. Very mobile on land and it can leap up to five meters at a stretch. Its evolution, starmie, has a dual water/psychic typing and is an excellent strategic battler."  
  
"But we've never seen one of those here on the ranch, professor." Ethan pointed out, staring at the water-type with acute interest."  
  
"That's because I don't have one at my ranch. Staryu are almost exclusively reared in the private ranches in Cerulean— A city famous for its water pokémon reserves. "  
  
"Then what exactly does this ranch produce?" Ethan asked curiously.  
  
Red muttered something that sounded suspiciously like nidoran before coughing and looking away.  
  
The old professor chuckled. "This ranch does not _produce _anything per se. We receive pokémon from all over Kanto and the neighboring regions to collect data and update it to the pokédex in general."  
  
"Ah… I think I understand." Ethan tried.  
  
"No, you don't. You really don't." Red muttered.  
  
"Stop confusing him, Red," Oak tried half-heartedly, ignoring the heated glare the teen gave him. "Now the last one of the lot is this little tyke over here." He clicked on the last pokéball, releasing the creature within.  
  
"Magby, a fire-type pokémon." He introduced the bipedal pokémon with two large lumps on the head. Its entire body was bright orange and it looked like it would start crying any second. "Anyone recognize this one?"  
  
"Nope," Red said staring at the small red creature.  
  
The old professor looked a little more excited here. "It's a magby. Magby are generally not found in the wild since they live inside volcanoes, or in the forests surrounding them. You might have heard about their evolved forms, magmar?"  
  
That brought Red's thoughts to a halt. _This little thing evolves into a magmar?_  
  
As if by instinct, he glanced back to the creature. Magmar were among the strongest fire-types, and that was even before their third evolution. Their evolutionary procedure was known to be incredibly expensive, and barely had a fifty percent success rate, but the higher form of magmar— Magmortar —were known to be terrifying.  
  
_But it's not a charizard._  
  
"As I was saying, their higher forms can boast some of the most dangerous flames on the planet and are scarily powerful though they can easily go rogue if they do not feel comfortable around their trainer. They are nothing spectacular defensively, but few fire-types are, so that's a moot point. Offensively, very few are able to challenge a fully-trained magmortar.  
  
Red inwardly agreed with the man. A fully-trained magmortar was scary. Very, very scary.  
  
"I was actually hoping for a psychic-type, professor." Ethan grinned. "Like an abra or something. Having an alakazam would be super-cool, but between staryu and magby, I think I'll go with the latter. A magmar would be useful against almost everything."  
  
_But magmar cannot fly. _Red mused. _Not like a charizard. And having a magmar and a charizard would be overkill._  
  
It reminded him of the type-masters out there— people who had been able to claim complete mastery in breeding, raising and creating extremely powerful battlers among a single type. Of course, the most prominent among them was Lance Wataru, the dragon-master and the current Champion, who ruled over the Kanto and Johto mainland with an iron fist. The Elite Four were type-masters as well.  
  
He watched as Ethan accepted the magby's pokéball and stepped back, before feeling the old man's gaze. He knew that the old man wanted him to speak out first. Patience was the name of the game, and the one that spoke first, lost. After what seemed like eons, the old man finally broke the silent competition and spoke first.  
  
"Is there anything that catches your fancy, Red?"  
  
Red looked up, glancing at the single pokéball— the one that held the staryu. He cast a quick glance at Ethan and the pokéball that held a magby as well. Magmar were powerful, and he knew it, but part of him, or rather, his ego wouldn't allow him to let _charmander_ be substituted by another fire-type. He had always wanted a charmander, one that would evolve into a ferocious charizard, and having to choose an alternate fire-type just felt _wrong._  
  
"I.. not at all." He answered with a pout. "If it's not a charmander, then I don't want a starter." He turned around, and walked off, leaving a baffled old man behind.

* * *

Samuel watched the teen leave with a rigid expression on his face, wondering if he was doing the right thing. As a former champion that ruled over the entirety of Kanto, he knew that he had more than enough pull to procure a single charmander for the boy walking away from him. The question was— would it be the correct thing to do?

He had not lied when he had stated his ignorance about Kalos experiments. Everything about it had been kept on a need-to-know basis, and as someone not invested in pokémon evolution with a research point-of-view. Like every other person on the planet, Samuel was very interested in evolution, but not enough to make it his life's passion. Instead, he had followed the path of the statistician, creating the world's first pokémon database, one that was considered the greatest invention in the world, on a par with the discovery of the pokéball itself.

_Maybe if I had been a little less… reclusive, I would have known about it earlier. But that's neither here nor there._

From what he understood from the missive sent from the League, the Kalosian experiments had begun on a gargantuan basis. Initially, it had been classified as an international secret— he knew that much since the Aether Foundation was involved in it as well. Something about evening the scales —Evan had informed him, limiting to as much as he could without breaking his confidentiality contracts. The experiments must have come to fruition, to authorize large-scale tests like the ones that had been going on. Initially, they started out with the Kalos starters, followed by the Hoenn and Sinnoh, and finally, it was Kanto's turn. Obviously, the results must have been significant enough that entire nations were actively pledging their assistance in such a manner. It almost made him feel jealous not to be a part of it.

But that brought him to the crux of the issue—a charmander fit to be a starter. He had already called up the Charicific Valley in west Johto to inquire about any remaining charmander fit to be an adequate starter, and checked in— through private channels and associates —if someone was willing to sell a baby charmander that fitted the bill.

He had found none.

He knew about the boy's obsession with dragons, and knew that his decision to start out with a charmander was influenced by the fact that it evolved into a charizard, which were as draconic as they came, at least as far as appearance and body physiology were concerned. However, because of their unusually small capacity to generate draconic energy, and their large affinity for the fire element, charizard were classified as fire/flying types, while other pokémon like flygon and altaria were considered dragons because of their large reservoirs of draconic energy. Whether charizard should be classified into the dragon category was still an active subject for debate, but that did not stop young Red from classifying them as one. In his own words— If it looks like a dragon and flies like a dragon, chances are, it's not a fairy.

The alternative was to get the boy a real dragon, but aside from the fact that dragons were notoriously difficult to raise, their earlier forms tended to be too weak and demanded too much attention— something that even someone like Red would be hard-pressed to provide. There also remained the fact that the baby dragons lacked the necessary power and strength that Red needed to grow from a rookie to an intermediate level, so giving him a baby dragon was not an option. If there was one thing a dragon needed to grow, it was _time._

_Perhaps when he's grown as a trainer for a while..._

Oak shook his head. This was no time to let his mind to fly along tangents. He had presumed that the boy would probably pick the magby as an alternative—however temporarily. but it had not worked out in his favour. Instead, the kid had walked out on him, furious at being asked to choose like that. As for other alternatives, there was no way that Red would accept a piggy, and Red could probably catch one in Pallet forest anyway. Something like a nidoran or a rattata wouldn't fit either, and Red didn't look like someone who'd want to take in a fighting-type like a machop. That left…

Oak widened his eyes. _Of course!_

There was a single specimen that did fit the bill. An annoyance of a Pichu had recently evolved into a Pikachu a week or so earlier, and contrary to the species's usual behaviour, evolution seemed to have made it _wild, _instead of bringing a sense of composure. Ever since its evolution, the little rodent had caused several power outages in his lab, and he had to keep the little brat isolated in a compartment to keep it from causing any further property damage. And while it was a second-stage pokémon, it had only just evolved, so its power levels were close enough to be classified as starter-level.

_And electric-types are quick, and efficient against most types. it would be a considerable asset, if Red's able to tame it down properly._

For a brief moment, he pictured Red standing with his cap on, and the pikachu lounging on his shoulders. He rather liked the picture, and mentally added a fearsome charizard beside the boy's image as well. There were a dozen other shadows around the boy— pokémon that he had yet to catch.

_That doesn't look so bad. Now all I have to do is convince him to take it._

* * *

**Sometime later**

"This is just a waste of time." Red muttered, as he was pulled along by the elderly professor. He might have been slightly infuriated about not getting his expected starter, but he wasn't stupid enough to start yelling about it to the man. Thus, he had been content to get out into the ranch and sulk.

"Oh stop being a baby," Oak admonished. "Besides, I did promise you a charmander as soon as the babies from the ranch are old enough, so just take this starter I have in mind and start your journey. Trust me, you won't regret it."

"Whatever you say, old man."

"And besides, you can always catch a wild charmander out there during your travels. Are you simply going to miss out on that possibility because you decided to be grumpy?"

The teen scowled. "Stop trying to force words out of my mouth. Besides, this is a charmander we're talking about, not rattata. What do you expect will happen? A lone, half-dead charmander will fall upon my path, and I'll save it and become best buddies?"

Oak arched an eyebrow.

The teen shrugged. "I was _hypothesizing. _I can do that."

The professor sighed at his silly antics. "You'll find that the world is much crazier than you think it is. Though I must consider," he paused with a smirk, "if you really dislike having an alternative starter so much, you can always wait for a couple months, sitting here in Pallet Town, while someone else… like Gary perhaps, may end up winning several badges."

Red scowled at the implication."That's underhanded and manipulative."

"Thank you. Your compliment is noted." Oak chortled. "Now come along, and meet your new starter."

Red sighed. He knew better than to quarrel with the professor, The man was wily enough to get what he wanted. Besides, there was no alternative so far.

_Maybe the professor has something cool. It's not like taking a look can hurt._

"Fine old man," He said, gritting his teeth in frustration, "let's go and meet this undeniably _awesome _starter of yours."

* * *

_A pikachu?_

Red stared blankly at the electric rodent doing its best in its attempts to demolish the little room it was trapped in. The switchboard on the left wall had been torn apart, barely hanging by a single screw. The remaining switches had been gnawed out, and the wiring was completely ruined. The longer copper strands had been pulled out and were currently being chewed upon by the electric type on the ground. Looking at the way its pink cheeks were flaring with tiny electrical discharges, it was probably having a really good meal.

_Not quite what I was expecting._

"This is… your grand suggestion? A pikachu?" He asked with a deadpan.

"Yes." The professor replied, his tone almost ethereal. "What do you think?"

"What do you mean what do I…?" He paused, not allowing his anger to get the best of him. He gave the pokémon a second look. This was no magmar, but it was quick, and electric-types were extremely beneficial in the wild. Also, being a different type, it would not be a replacement for his eventual charmander. Pikachu were surprisingly agile, and could use both physical and long-ranged attacks. Further, as an electric type, they were extremely useful against both flying and water types, negating the benefits of most terrains.

_Come to think of it, having a pikachu might not be… that bad. But…_

"This is a stage-two pokémon."

"What of it?" The professor asked.

Red stared at the elderly man, wondering if the man was taking him to be a fool. "Starters are stage-one pokémon."

"That's incorrect, or rather imprecise. Starters are pokémon that are chosen when they fit a certain requirement standard, usually based on their general age, physical development and number of basic-tier moves known. Usually, it is stage-one pokémon that fit the bill. Since this pikachu evolved a week ago, it's abilities are not significantly higher than the pichu stage, so it qualifies as one."

"On a technicality."

"On a technicality." The professor agreed. "Also, that nuisance has been causing me a constant headache, so I'd really love for you to help me out with this one."

"Real subtle there, old man." The teen grumbled, "fine, I'll take it. Let's go meet it."

"I knew you'd see it my way." Oak replied with fake superiority, pressing his palm on the biometric scanner on the wall. With a hiss, the doors flew open.

Red walked into the insulated room, right past the broken switchboard and crouched in front of the electric rodent, who didn't seem to register his presence. Yet. He turned around to find the old professor still standing at the doorway.

"Aren't you going to come in?" He asked. "I didn't know that you were afraid of electric types."

"Heh!" The old professor chuckled. "I like them fine." Then as if to make a point, he put a foot inside the room, and Pikachu's cheeks began to flicker with electricity. "Though clearly, the attraction isn't mutual."

"He seems fine to me," Red muttered, extending a finger towards the pikachu. "Hey little guy, I know that the old man put you here, but it was only to keep you from damaging his equipment."

The pikachu's ears perked up, but he continued to chew obliviously.

"I'm Red, and I'm going to start my journey today. I'm planning on becoming a pokémon trainer, perhaps even as good as the old man over there." He casually pointed at said individual with a thumb. "—and I need a starter, someone I can believe in, and someone with whom I can accomplish my goals. Would you like to help me?"

The rodent continued nipping at the torn wires. Red could see its electric pouches glowing slightly as the electric-type sucked in electricity, possibly to fuel its own reserves.

_This doesn't seem to work. Perhaps the tried and tested conversation technique will do?_

"I can help you grow stronger." He offered his palm towards the rodent. Said technique had worked in _Tales of the Gutsy Trainer, _but he hadn't been sure if it would work in real life. Then again, the little thing seemed more inclined towards solving its hunger issues than any real desire to gain strength.

The pikachu blurped again and continued to chew happily.

_Point proven._

He glanced back at the professor, who shrugged back.

_Thanks for the help._

"Tell you what?" Red tried a different approach. "How about you travel with me, free from this shackled cage? I will be traveling to different places, and there are power stations and electric supply stations specially for electric-types. Think about it, it's almost like an eat-all-you-want buffet for you there."

"Pika? pikachu?"

_I can only hope it's a confirmation._

"Yes, exactly. I'm totally okay with it."

The rodent looked at him with a strange gaze, as if surprised or stupefied with his answer. "Chu?" It asked again, as if in reaffirmation.

Red bobbed his head. "We have a deal."

His initial wariness slowly leaving him, Red extended out his left arm towards the electric rodent, caressing its head gently. The pikachu even let out a moan out of pleasure. He was already liking the idea of having this pokémon for a starter. They were probably going to get along just fine.

A powerful bond between trainer and pokémon was integral for their survival in the wild, as well as to reach the pinnacle of strength. It would start with an initially weak bond between the human and his starter, growing through mutual admiration developing through both peace and conflict, before finally blooming into true trust and friendship. At least, that was what the book said.

The rodent let out another moan, as the human's fingers reached out to gently rub the pouches on his cheeks. Instinct flooded through it, as the little rodent let out a mischievous grin. Not for a single moment did Red even believe that this mischief could turn into malevolence.

_"Chuuuuuu!"_

* * *

**Present Day**

I'm sorry. He is currently comatose. His mind is barely functioning and his vitals are unstable. You cannot see him."

Delia was hysterical. She had been part of a delegation to a research convention, as Oak's representative, and had been accompanied by Ivy. The news about Red's electrocution had sent her reeling, and she had teleported home as soon as possible. Red had already been transferred to the ICU, by then.

"But I just want to see him once and—"

"I'm sorry." The patient voice continued. "You will have to wait. This therapy is still in its experimental stage, and without proper consent, we would never have proceeded with that. So, we _really _cannot allow you to get there, and I suggest you wait and—"

"Experimental therapy?" Delia widened her eyes. "What's that about? I signed no papers allowing my son as subject to—"

"Professor Samuel Oak had been acting as _de facto _guardian and signed the papers.

"Now if you will allow me, I need to check on my patient." He quickly excused himself from the anxious woman and—

"But I had no knowledge of this. I just flew back here to see my son and certainly—"

"Mrs. Ketchum!" The man snapped. "Your son has just bore the brunt of a Level-3 electrocution. Half of the nerves on his arms have been shredded and he has suffered massive damage to his spinal cord. I suggest you speak with your benefactor over this since he is the one who's taken charge of the situation."

Delia palmed her mouth in horror. "He's… he's going to survive, right?"

The doctor sighed. "He's covered in third-degree electrical burns. and his heart rate is plummeting. If the heavy discharge hadn't fried his pain receptors he may have died from the pain alone."

Delia suppressed a sob. It didn't help. "Please… please save my son."

"We are trying our best." The man replied empathically. "Under Oak's approval, we have proceeded with this experimental, albeit… successful therapy, involving ditto-cell surgery and psychic grafting. Professor Oak has had surgeons traveling from Johto for your son's case. However, we need to act quickly. If all goes well, you should be able to see your son tomorrow at the earliest."

* * *

**Three weeks later**

Red sat ramrod straight, resting his back against the wall before he pushed the sheets off the lower part of his body. The zapping, as he had begun to call it, had torn through his muscles, and damaged his spine. They had been forced to reconstruct most of the nerves in his right hand as well as a significant number on his left. Apparently, he had been driven into a violent spasm and lost voluntary control over all body functions. In short, the fact that he was still sitting on his bed, capable of rational thought and movement instead of being stuck in a persistent vegetative state was a miracle of modern medicine.

From what he had been told, it was only because the professor had managed to stop Pikachu, that he was still alive and breathing. The man instantly summoned his alakazam who immediately took charge of the situation, creating an insulation barrier between Red and the pikachu, before sending the electric rodent to sleep. After that, Alakazam had directly teleported Red to the nearest hospital, and Oak had thrown his entire influence to ensure that he had gotten the best possible treatment.

He had been comatose for the next six days.

Apparently, the doctors had employed an experimental therapy to heal the severe nerve-damage and used 'constructive ditto-cell implantation' to grow the destroyed nerves back into place. He still had mixed feelings— the doctors had used his nearly-dead self as a lab rat for an experimental protocol —but he was alive and he supposed that was what really mattered. It had taken a little over a week after he regained consciousness for the hospital to discharge him, placing him under Mia's tender mercies.

An entire week.

More than enough time for the reality of the situation to dawn upon him. He had missed out on getting his chosen starter. He had failed in convincing another starter to join him—his very first act as a pokémon trainer. He had been nearly killed by said starter, which spoke volumes about his skill, or lack thereof, at survival. Ultimately it made him feel pathetic. And he hadn't even started.

Leaf and Ethan had apparently left for their journeys the very day they had gotten their starters. With news of Red's hospitalization hushed, Leaf hadn't come to know anything about it and had left for Pallet Forest to start her journey. Ethan had instead taken the sea route towards the West Coast, from where he would travel to his family home in Mahogany Town, wanting to start out with the gyms in Johto.

That left Red alone, sitting on his bed, and evaluating his current position—Fourteen, with a trainer's license, and an absolute failure.

Needless to say, his mind tormented him, painting vivid images of both himself as a failure and of the electrocution in the form of recurring nightmares. From what he had heard, Gary had returned to Pallet, and driven off to Viridian City to start his journey. Knowing him, he'd probably be catching tons of pokémon.

_And here I am, tied to my bed for no good reason. Helpless. He's probably already cleared Viridian and Pewter, and moving towards Cerulean, if he hasn't beaten that already._

He completely ignored the fact that he had been electrocuted and had been on the verge of death. As far as he was concerned, he was alive and his limbs were in working order. Thus, Delia and Mia's concerns were insubstantial.

Apparently, a post-electrocuted mind didn't need things like common sense and logic.

And all that because of the rodent.

Thoughts of the rodent gave way to thoughts about his favorite professor. He momentarily wondered what the old man thought about the entire chain of events. First, he had failed to get a charmander as promised, and then he had been coerced into trying to make do with that malicious little devil. Red had been nearly killed because of it, though from what he had heard, Oak had left no stone unturned to ensure that he received the best quality treatment at the hospital.

_It isn't supposed to be this complicated. Is it?_

He wanted to blame someone. Anyone. He wanted to shout out at the unfairness of it all. The tangela had happily accepted Leaf as her trainer, and so had the magby. The pikachu, on the other hand, had tried to kill him. How was this fair?

_Perhaps mom had the right idea. Maybe I'm not cut out to be a trainer._

"Red?"

A very familiar voice shook him out of his reverie. Ironically, the person associated with the voice was also the source of said reveries. Standing at the doorway, was Professor Oak.

"Professor?" Red wished in a rather uncertain voice. He didn't really know how to feel about the incident.

"May I… Can I come in?"

Red pushed himself up against a bed a little more to sit up straighter. "Sure."

"I… wasn't sure if you'd want to talk to me after everything that happened, and Mia wouldn't talk to me about anything. Delia has been mostly silent for weeks, and Kaz is… Kaz."

"Mom is… home?"

Oak arched an eyebrow. "You didn't meet— ah, I see. Delia blames herself for not being there for you. She was supposed to leave for the convention in Goldenrod, but I have arranged someone to replace her. I thought she'd be here, with you."

"Old man, I know that I was an unwanted child_. _She was not prepared for it, and my father was an ass who didn't take responsibility. My mom thinks of herself as a researcher and I understand that. She still did her best to be there whenever she could."

Oak opened his mouth but shut it. There was nothing he could say about that anyway.

"Was there anything you wanted to talk to me about, old man? I'm pretty sure Mia will be back, and she's not exactly very accepting of you."

"Don't I know it?" The professor sighed.

"I don't blame you, professor." Red spoke up again, his voice filled with self-deprecation. "I'm told that you spent an awful lot to save me. I'm grateful for that."

"Red Ketchum, being polite. It seems like the end of the world."

"You were saying, old codger?"

Oak chuckled at that. "How are things turning out for you here?"

"Oh not bad at all. Mia's become constantly monitoring my emotional state. She flips out whenever I get depressed, Even Kaz keeps an eye on me from time to time. Mom… has shown up, at times, though the last time I saw her was yesterday afternoon, before going off to sleep. Whatever this treatment was, it's making me sleep a hell of a lot more than I'm used to."

"Your nerves have practically been regrown. It will take a while before you are in peak form. I suggest you don't fight it."

"It's not like I have an option. Personally, I think Mia's secretly happy that I'm bound to the bed. Under her direct surveillance."

"There might be some truth to that. I'm told she hasn't left your side since you've been discharged."

"You realize that this doesn't change things? I'm still gonna be a trainer. "

"Red, you've seen for yourself just how dangerous—"

"It's not like being a researcher will be less dangerous. Look at what happened in the lab."

Oak blinked. "..."

The teen sighed. "Sorry, staying tied up like this does scary things to my mind. The point is, trying to convince me like that, makes me wonder if it this is some conspiracy plot to deviate me from my dream of being Champion."

The old man arched an eyebrow. "And… why would I do that?"

"To stop a future Champion from stealing your glory of course!" Red replied exuberantly. "Who knows? Maybe I'll become a kickass Champion, and then turn to research and leave your inventions in the dust, and maybe you realize that and want to keep me under your thumb."

"..."

"What?"

"I… cannot believe you put all of that in a regular-sized sentence."

Red gave him a winning smile. "I'm awesome, right?"

"It wasn't a compliment."

"Either way," Red countered, channeling a little bit of hope in his voice, "do you think you can get me a charmander by the time I'm… well, back in form?"

Oak bit his lip. "The doctors told me that you should be fit to start your journey in roughly two weeks. You have already regained basic mobility, correct?"

"Yeah, though I do need help. My legs aren't… strong enough, yet."

"They will be. Don't worry. It might take a while to get used to, but ditto-cell therapy is the most cutting edge procedure to date. I don't think you'll be meeting anyone who's gone through the procedure."

"Just how costly was it?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Humour me."

Oak chuckled. "Let's not go into that. It was my mistake to let you handle that pikachu by yourself. Doubly so, because I knew that it wasn't exactly docile," He paused, "and don't worry, the pikachu has been… dealt with."

Red widened his eyes, but kept silent.

"That reminds me," the old man went on, "I have a starter for you."

Red's countenance glowed. "Is it a charmander?"

"No." The professor deadpanned.

He looked up. "What do you have in mind for me then? Is it something interesting? I bet Gary's starter is unique."

"Funny you mentioned Gary," Oak gave a half-grin, "and yes, he has a… rather interesting choice for a starter. A Riolu, to be exact."

"A… _riolu?" _Red wasn't sure he had heard about that one before this.

"Oh right, you wouldn't have possibly heard about it. Perhaps I should mention its evolved form—Lucario."

"..."

…

"...a lucario? Like a lucario? Gary has a fuc—I mean, a _lucario?"_

"Ahem!"Oak cleared his voice. "As much as I understand your appreciation for Gary's choices, please limit your profanity to your personal thoughts."

"But a lucario—"

"Is interesting, and Gary has a riolu. Get over it." He paused, "unless you want him to know about how jealous you were."

That shut Red up.

"As I was saying, it was interesting that you happened to mention Gary, who got his lucario from Kalos. I also happened to recieve a rather interesting phone call from an old… friend of mine, requesting my aid for something, or rather someone."

"A pokémon?"

"Correct. My friend Mabel lives on Pomace mountain, in Kalos. She has a pokémon who's… for lack of a better word, bored of living there, and wants to see the world. Mabel has finally agreed to her requests, and asked me to provide for a suitable trainer who would not mistreat her."

"And you thought of me?" Red choked. "Old man, I need a starter, something strong and capable of growth. I don't want to become a chaperone for some spoiled pokémon. I want someone who can battle not someone I'd have to treat like a porcelain doll."

Oak chuckled at that description. "Mawile would eat you if you tried to treat her like she was made of porcelain."

"Mawile?" Red squinted his eyes. "Never heard of such a pokémon."

"I didn't expect you to. Mawile are rather… rare, and are mostly found in the mountains of Hoenn. This particular mawile was born to Mabel's own mawile, and thus, is somewhat different from the natives of Hoenn. Also, she's… uniquely suited to fighting dragons, so I thought it might help you in your journey."

"Uniquely suited…" Red paused his reply, sending his mind in an overdrive. "She's from Pomace mountain so… an ice-type?"

"Heh!" The old man laughed. "Mawile's pretty good at handling ice, but no, she's a fairy, or rather, part-fairy and part-steel."

"A steel/fairy hybrid?" Red wondered. "I have never heard of such a combination before."

Oak laughed. "Probably not. Mawile is the only fairy/steel type in the world."

"The only—"

"Yep."

"You mean the only species—"

"Yep."

"So like there's no other—"

"Nope."

Red opened his mouth, then decided better, and closed it. Finally, he let out a sigh. "A fairy/steel, that is… interesting."

"Though now that I think about it, there is one other. I believe Klefki is the name, though it's not exactly a battler or anything, and its status as a fairy-type is still under consideration. So, there you have it."

Red arched an eyebrow. "That's good to know, though, it is _your choice, _so forgive me if I am cynical enough to fear her trying to kill me at first sight."

"Come now Red, I'm Samuel Oak. Show me some respect."

* * *

When Red had first heard that the mawile was part-fairy, his thoughts had naturally flown towards Mia, expecting something dainty and cute and full of innate fairy-goodness inside it. Something that would dance all day, and make puppy-faces when you didn't agree to its wishes and if not, would vanish in a mini gale of grassy petals.

He hadn't expected, well… this.

"Wile?" The creature in front of him tilted her tiny head in confusion, as Red stared at her tiny figure. It was at best, two feet tall, and was coated with yellow and ivory fur, though it looked as smooth as skin. Bipedal, with two black limbs for hands on either side, it had an outgrowth near its waist that gave the impression of a skirt. It's most notable feature though, was the large, black protrusion extending off the back of its head. It looked somewhat like an overgrown leaf.

And it looked so damned _cute._

"Maww… wile?" It cooed again.

Yep, it was official. This little thing was so damned _cute. _Wait, was it really that cute, or was he being induced to consider it cute because of some supernatural phenomenon? Any normal individual would not have thought of such a dire possibility, but for someone who had grown up with a fairy for a sister, Red was anything but normal. He returned back to his senses soon enough, but in the meantime, one of his hands had darted _dangerously close _to the creature's delightful cheeks and that black flap that was opening up to reveal a massive jaw with lethal teeth within and—

_ **SNAP!** _

Luckily, it wasn't actually trying to maim him or he would have lost his entire hand to this not-so-innocent fairy. Seriously, what was it with cute, yellowish, little things trying to murder him? His eyes narrowed, his countenance filled with accusal, he gazed at Samuel Oak.

"You were saying?"

"Mawile!" Oak snapped, causing the little fairy to flinch momentarily and step back, before meeting the man's eyes. "I thought I made it extremely clear."

The mawile simply rolled her eyes.

_I'm doomed. _Red admitted with a pronounced sigh.

"I apologize for that, Red. It seems that once again, I made a bad choice for a starter. _Clearly _she is unfit to be a starter and I'll send her back to Mabel first thing tomorrow and—"

"Mawwwww!" Mawile had magically teleported to Red's left side and was rubbing her face on his shirt in affection, making the teen to roll his eyes at her obvious ploy. Chuckling, he rubbed the top of her head softly, causing the creature to actually mewl in pleasure, push herself into his hand.

"I guess we can agree that she _really _doesn't want to go back, does she?" Red asked, smiling softly at her shenanigans.

The mawile in question rubbed against his hand a little harder, before purring again.

_Cute._

Oak chuckled at her antics. "Well, now that both of you are getting along, I suppose I should introduce you to each other. Mawile, meet Red— one of my best and brightest. Red, meet Mawile— a real handful."

Mawile threw the older man a doleful glare before returning to purr.

Oak winked at Red, who laughed in return. "As I was saying, Red's my student, and he went through a rather… terrifying episode with a pikachu, which turned out to be quite… well, lethal, which is why he is currently bedridden."

Mawile had stopped purring and was gazing at Red, her eyes filled with a strange emotion in them.

"Uhm, old man, I don't think she—" Red began, but Mawile beat him to it. The creature turned towards the elderly man and barked out something.

"Yes, just like Mabel." Upon Red's questioning stare, he explained. "My friend Mabel cannot walk. She suffers from paralysis, brought upon her by a wild raichu back there. Mawile has an almost instinctive hatred for that line."

The mawile glanced at his bandaged hands momentarily, but did nothing.

"Mawile… used to help Mabel treat the other baby pokémon. Mabel owns a private clinic out there, and she helps her."

Red glanced back at the lithe little thing that had almost chewed his arm off. He tried to conjure the same image and connect it to someone that liked to heal babies.

He failed.

Dismally.

The fact that said creature was looking at him like he was a stuffed toy inside a glass box made it all the more difficult.

Finally, he managed to gather some courage and opened his mouth, praying to whatever deity that was listening to not make this a reboot of his previous experience. "Well, there is no sugar-coating it. I want to be a trainer, and I wanted a charmander, but the old man here, he didn't have one, so he suggested a pikachu." He paused for a moment, "Turns out that the little rodent didn't really like my offer very much."

Oak snorted.

"I know I'm not in the best position yet, but we can start off on a journey together, if you want to join me… well, maybe we could even become friends on the way."

The mawile said nothing.

Red glanced at the Oak one last time, feeling a certain fear rise deep within his heart. This was eerily similar to his previous experience. "So… what do you think?"

The mawile gazed at him for a moment, before she finally let out a little smile. "Wile!" She nodded.

* * *

**Mawile, the deceiver pokémon. Mawile's huge jaws are actually steel horns that have been transformed. Its docile-looking face serves to lull its foe into letting down its guard. When the foe least expects it, Mawile chomps it with its gaping jaws.**

The device in his hands was Professor Oak's ingenious invention—the pokédex, a device that used information generated across several regions and landmasses to create a universal database for pokémon, listing their names, features, abilities, common locations, food habits and the like. Furthermore, it also had the ability to scan a pokémon in front of it comparing it to its ever-updating database before providing the relevant information, thus providing efficient means to identify a pokémon on sight. Trainers were given out the pokédex as proof of their coming of age and becoming a licensed pokémon trainer. Since he was from Kanto, the pokédex in question would allow him access to the pokémon found in Kanto and probably the adjoining Johto regions, though only because of the common biodiversity between the two regions.

"The pokédex give more detailed information about owned pokémon, by scanning them through their pokéballs. Scanning Mawile now,"—Oak demonstrated, "you can check out her existing move sets. Once you scan a pokémon with the pokédex, its entire subject data is downloaded from the League database and saved locally on the pokédex, enabling you to view it even if you aren't connected to the network."

"Uhuh," Red murmured, mimicking the professor's motions and checking on Mawile's present data. Once again, the electronic device spoke up.

**This Mawile is female. Typing: Steel/ Fairy. Known move set: Astonish, Fairy Wind, Iron Head, and Icy Wind. Ability: Hyper Cutter and Snow Cloak.**

"That's… a rather diverse move pool." Red admitted, impressed.

"Well, that's Mawile for you," Oak answered, gently rubbing the mawile's head. "Mawile has a rather high affinity to ice because of her parentage, which also shows in her rather… unusual second ability."

"Snow cloak." Red muttered. "Never heard of something like that."

"It's not very common either " Oak explained. "Check this out." He clicked on the pokédex, and the mechanical voice went on.

**Snow Cloak— an ability commonly found in pokémon living in Tundra regions. Snow Cloak allows the user to surround itself with tiny particulates of snow and ice, providing a form of camouflage in the middle of a snowstorm or any terrain-based ice attacks, thus increasing evasion.**

"That's interesting," Red commented, "and Icy Wind too. Fairly unusual for a non-ice-type"

Oak nodded.

"Wicked."

Mawile gave him a prideful simple.

"But why would a fairy/steel— ah, an ice-type parent, I get it." Red murmured to himself, before clicking on the other ability on the screen.

**Hyper Cutter— an ability commonly found in pokémon with physical body parts tuned to cutting or slashing, such as scythes or claws. It utilizes every component involved in the attack in perfect unity allowing every move to bear the weight of the entrity of the pokémons strength. The damage output of a pokémon with this ability can reach nearly twice that of those without it.**

"This is mind-blowing. You are a terrific little thing, aren't you?"

Mawile blushed at that.

"Also professor, this thing is rather cool." He looked up at the elderly man. "Are all pokédex like this?"

"Not… exactly." The professor explained. "You see this one isn't limited to Kanto and Johto pokemon. It's called the National Dex," He allowed himself a moment to bask in his achievement. "It is connected to the Oceanos Data Center, a centralized database that keeps information of pokémon species in almost all the regions of the world. Most pokédexes are usually connected to their regional databases. It will update whenever in range of a pokémon center."

Red blinked.

"Well, Mawile isn't exactly a Kanto native, and considering the influx of foreign trainers into Kanto over the years, I decided to give you a National Dex instead of a standard one. Consider it my way of apologizing for whatever happened."

Red opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally after a moment, he replied. "Thanks a lot, old man."

"Well then, introductions are over. I suppose I should just complete the formalities. Red, are you happy to have Mawile as your starter?"

"I am," Red answered without hesitation, before something flashed in his mind, "Old man, you said that I am ready to travel. Mom… is manageable, but what about Mia? Did you get her consent as well?"

Samuel Oak, Champion extraordinaire and Pokémon Professor, looked distinctly shifty.

* * *

**Two weeks later**

"KIRLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!"

Mawile arched an eyebrow towards the esteemed professor as if to ask-_Do you think he's gonna make it?_

To be honest, Oak was wondering the same thing. Mawile's current trainer, Red Ketchum—self-proclaimed future Champion, had attempted to stealthily escape his house through the bathroom window, a determined expression on his face. Unfortunately for him, Mia was equally determined that he would never leave. She had somehow, instantly found out about his escape plan and was currently using all her strength to drag him back inside.

"I'm… pretty sure he'll survive. I wish I could say so for that poor window though."

Mawile looked at him inquisitively.

"Oh yes." Oak had a misty, almost nostalgic look in his eyes "That window, it's the same one that Kaz broke while practicing his Psycho Cut. And Poliwag broke with Water Gun. And Red broke when he was playing catch with some pokémon. I'm pretty sure Mia broke it a few times as well. Oak frowned. "Come to think of it, that window has been broken way too many times. In fact, I think they got a stronger frame last time. One more resistant to breaking. So Red may be fine this time—"

_ **CREAAAAAAAK!** _

A large creaking sound interrupted Oak's monologue. "Or not," He finished sheepishly.

"Wile?" Mawile blinked, her eyes instantly zooming in on the now cracked hinges, the frame tilting forward slightly. With a shrill snapping noise, the window gave way, causing Red, Mia and part of the shelf she was trying to tie him too literally fall outside. Mia's psychic abilities were enough for her to break momentum midway and float away, but her favorite human wasn't so lucky.

"Oww."

Mawile winced. That must have hurt. Her trainer was lucky that the window wasn't too high. Or maybe he had plenty of practice falling through it?

"I… I hadn't realized fairy types could be so brutal," Oak muttered to no one in particular, before glancing down at Red's newest companion. "Nothing personal."

Mawile was hardly in any position to refute back. In fact, a certain pair of steel jaws glinted malevolently in contrast to her tiny figure. Over the past two weeks, she had only seen the other fairy refrain from any and all offensive gestures. Mawile had initially thought that perhaps this was how most fairies behaved and had suppressed her excitation. Now though, she was beginning to feel more at home.

Perhaps traveling with Red might not be that bad of an idea after all.

Meanwhile Red had managed to pull himself off the floor, only to find an inconsolable Mia land upon him. He had certainly not expected things to go this way.

Back when Oak had introduced him to Mawile and admitted that he hadn't, in fact, shared the news with Mia, Red had come up with an ingenious master plan. It had been pretty simple. Keep things slow and silent. He had introduced Mawile as Professor Oak's pokémon, whom Red was supposed to take care of. Mia, being the sweet little thing, had instantly fallen for it, and accepted his words at face value. The big idea was to keep everything quiet, and then vanish. He'd call back the instant he reached Viridian City, and explain everything.

It being easier to ask for forgiveness than permission and all that. Unfortunately, no plan is perfect and his had a not so small flaw

Mia was a kirlia, and kirlia were empathetic. She had easily sensed his heightened emotions, and understood that something… big was about to happen.

"Come on Mia, just let it go already."

"KIRLLLLLLL!"

"You know why I cannot take you with me, Mia. Traveling with me will involve staying in the wild, which means no more comfy beds to sleep on, no more waking up like always. No more breakfast from Mom every morning, or meeting your friends at the ranch. It will be endless traveling all day followed by battling, and this can go on for weeks on end."

Mia looked slightly troubled by that, before hugging Red again, sobbing into his shirt.

"Come now Mia," He consoled. "You know I cannot subject you to harsh training, and that is what being a trained pokémon is. Mawile knows it, and so will the rest of my future team. We'd have to survive dangerous environments and face other people with teams stronger than us. You wouldn't be able to do that."

No change.

"Mia, I know you want to go with me, but out there, there are violent pokémon in the wild. As you are now, you won't be able to stand against it. They'd harm you, Mia. You'd… You'd be injured or worse. Not all pokémon make it through their journey. I just want you to be safe."

Mia shook her head. She didn't care.

"Mia," Red went on, his face devoid of emotion. "Why don't you understand? Pokémon die when they are killed."

Mia did not move an inch.

Red sighed and went in for the kill. "You won't be able to dance either, Mia."

That produced a reaction in her. Pushing herself away by an inch, Mia stared into Red's eyes. He was telling the truth, or at least, what Red thought was the truth. Dancing was to her like breathing was to humans. Being forced away from it was kind of…. blasphemous to an empathic species like herself.

_At least that is something. _He mused. _Time for the carrot._

"How about this? Let me go out there for a month or two, okay? I'll get an idea about how it is, and will know how to handle things better than I do now. I'll also have a team to keep away wild pokémon."

Mia nodded slowly. The idea did seem slightly better than the previous one.

"Meanwhile, you can stay here, dance to your heart's content, and practice your psychic techniques. Grow stronger. Strong enough to survive out there. That way, the next time we meet, I'll have no problem taking you with me. Fair enough?"

Mia had a sneaking suspicion that Red was forcing words in her mouth, but somehow, she couldn't help but go along with the flow.

"Fair deal, right?" Red repeated.

"Liii…."

"Great." He hugged the kirlia tightly for a moment. Mia's mind tuned into the sudden happiness Red was feeling, smiled and hugged him back.

* * *

"So… everything at hand?" Oak asked.

"Yep. Got my backpack ready, extra food, supplements, meds, a knife, and ropes. A spare tent and an extra bag. I'm all set."

"Your Dex?"

Red patted his pokébelt softly, pointing towards the contraption attached to the belt in which the pokédex was currently stored. Besides the contraption, there were eight empty pokéballs, shrunk and fit into their respective slots.

"I have registered it to your name and Trainer ID. It will also reveal me as your Ranch Sponsor. In case you run into some trouble, feel free to use my name. I'd like to think it still means something out there. I'd request you to not overdo it though."

"Come on, old man. Who do you think I am?"

Oak didn't reply to that taunt. "Anyway, when you get to Viridian City, the first thing you need to do is register for the Indigo Circuit. You can get most of the Indigo Conference data from there. And please, do not go crazy and catch everything that comes in front of you. Catching them is important, but building and maintaining a team even more so."

"Don't worry, professor. I will."

"Then goodbye." Oak smiled. "And take care of each other. You too Mawile."

"Thanks, professor. And you tell mom to take care as well." Red waved, as he and Mawile began walking down the grassy path that led to the outskirts of the little valley that was Pallet Town. It would be a start to a new and exciting journey, one where he would capture the strongest pokémon and fell the strongest champions, one where he would stand at the top and Gary would look up to him in admiration, where he was as famous as Oak and as respected, he would—

"Look out for that—"

"Oww!"

"...tree." The old professor winced, staring at his pupil with sad eyes.

"Ehhh, sorry Mawile, didn't see that coming. Anyway, let's get going." Red apologized, with a bright smile before continuing to walk off.

Oak watched them go. Seeing his student and his newest starter vanish past the end of the road, he glanced back towards Mia who was forelonly gazing at the road Red had just crossed.

"Don't worry," he told the kirlia, "He is going to do great."

Mia didn't respond. She just continued to stare at the empty road in front of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	2. Act 1 - Immolation | Chapter 2 - First Blood

The grassy path had finally ended. On crossing the main valley, he found himself at a crossroads of sorts. From there onwards, there were two choices ahead —the longer, windier, albeit neater route, and the shorter, but infinitely more dangerous path through the forests that grew abound, surrounding the valley. Now if he had been the pompous grandson of a certain professor, he could have easily covered the distance in a convertible in less than a day, reaching Viridian City the following afternoon. However, that wasn't the case, and he didn't want to waste four days walking to the city.

He had chosen the grassy path amidst the forest. It was short, and it cut the time required to reach Viridian in half. He conveniently ignored the stories of rookie trainers getting lost in the woods and going around in circles over and over again. Fortunately, Red had some prior experience with forests, and therefore, his chances of getting lost were fairly low.

Well, according to him anyway.

The real problem was the abundance of wild creatures in the Pallet Forest. With the old man's overindulgence towards them, the Pallet Town forest played host to several dozen species of grass, bug and flying-type pokémon. While this made it easier for a rookie trainer to catch a decent baby pokémon, or perhaps, a rarer second-staged one, it didn't erase the dangers that came with essentially walking into a forest filled with wild creatures.

A year ago, he'd have called the plan stupid. Tales of young trainers getting maimed by a flock of rogue spearow was more than enough to carve such an impression on him. Things had gotten so bad that Samuel Oak was forced to take matters into his own hands.

Dragonite had been rather forlorn after being assigned to what was essentially pest control and had ended up moping about it for weeks.

The spearow flock was still probably somewhere in the forest, albeit with a much-reduced population. Come to think of it, while wild spearow were known to be quite hostile, they did make good battlers. Perhaps he could try his hand at catching one.

"I'm so glad you decided to join me. You're even immune to dragon-type moves! I'm gonna use you exclusively whenever I find dragons." Red beamed at his starter.

Mawile flinched. Of course, she would deny it later, but she was slightly wary of her trainer, and his ridiculous obsession with those giant, angry, fire-breathing monstrosities. The human had even shown her videos of those beasts killing little creatures with scorching flames and superheated dragon breath. True, her fairy nature made her immune to dragon-type moves, but they were so big and she wasn't keen on fighting them. One single slam with their enormous legs and she'd be squashed, type advantage be damned.

"We'll defeat the eight gyms, catch dozens of pokémon, and build the strongest team ever. You'd be the leader."

That did feel good. Having lots of powerful servants do her bidding all day long certainly felt nice. It would be a nice transition compared to her time with Mabel. The fact that Red had meant leader and not _queen, _didn't make a difference in her mind_. _It wouldn't do for someone like her to get stuck on such unimportant details.

Mawile nodded to herself, her mind racing ahead in her dreams of grandeur. Unfortunately, Red noticed her nods and arrived at the most unfortunate conclusion.

"I knew you'd be excited. I'm sure you can't wait to grow stronger, rising until you crush Lance's army."

Mawile flinched. Why was her trainer so hell-bent on throwing her at those monsters? Couldn't he catch other pokémon to do that? What part of her looked like it was built to deal with those huge things? She had the misfortune of watching an ongoing battle between the dragon-raising human her trainer wanted to beat, and some gigantic, bare-bodied beast named Bruno or something equally ridiculous on the telly thing in Red's room. Mawile refused to believe that the muscular creature was human no matter what Red told her. Of course, she was quite inexperienced and knew that in the course of time, she too would probably get stronger, but those dragons were scary.

"Come to think of it, though," Red frowned as he walked on, glancing down at her. "You are rather tiny and lacking in moves at the moment. It will take some time before you grow strong enough for that."

Mawile looked up and gave him her version of a cute smile_._

_Yes, Red was smiling too, he finally understood that his desires were impractical. He wouldn't make her fight those scary monstrosities and she'd get to live a long and happy life. More importantly, she was going to live._

"— But I guess you are too enthusiastic to wait, aren't you? I'm sure you can't wait to face a real dragon. I'll try to find one for you to battle as soon as I can. Maybe the professor's Dragonite can spar with you if I ask nicely."

_She was going to DIE._

"Maw… wile." It should have sounded painful. It should have revealed her untold suffering to him, but it didn't. He should have been rendered to tears even thinking about the trauma that she would go through if forced to face such a beast. Unfortunately, it just sounded horribly cute and optimistic. Sometimes Mawile hated just how adorable she sounded.

"I know, I know." Red chuckled. "That reminds me, you aren't getting tired from all the walking, are you?"

Mawile let out a soft moan, before shaking her head. Truth be told, she was a little exhausted, especially after walking such a long way from the ranch. They were already inside the forest, and it was shadier here. Pallet was warmer than Pomace Mountain, and she was feeling it.

"We can take a little break if you need to. Or you can just return to your pokéball for now. I'll get you out when I call it a day."

Mawile shook her head again. This was her first day out as a starter, and she refused to be defeated by something as pathetic as lethargy. Besides, her trainer was pretty interesting to talk to, though it would have been better if she had something to eat.

Her stomach groaned loudly, in reaffirmation of her earlier thought.

Mawile blushed.

"Heh!" Red laughed, glancing at his watch. "We've walked quite a bit. Let's put up a tent and make some lunch. It looks like it's past noon, anyway."

Mawile looked up at the sun, or rather, at the beams of sunlight trickling down the thick canopy above them. The rays were pretty much slanted. Perhaps her trainer had a point.

"Well, let's get started. After all, we can't hope to win our battles on an empty stomach."Red cheered. "Hunger is the enemy."

Mawile disagreed. If anything, the feeling of hunger increased her desire to hunt. As she was now, she could probably feast on a bug or a grass-type with ease. Perhaps she could hunt for a quick snack while Red prepared his meal. From the way the bushes on the right were rustling in the wind—

Wait. There was no wind. The bushes were rustling. That had only one implication.

_FOOD._

Mawile rushed ahead towards the swaying bushes, the large protrusion on the back of her head already imagining delicacies. Grass-types were rather juicy, with warm meat and tender fat on their bodies.

With a decently loud declaration of 'Maw…', she opened her _maw, _the sharp steel fangs snapped into the bush, her eyes beaming as she recognized wet flesh within her jaws. There was nothing like a good meal, and by the looks of it, it was a short, tapering organ, possibly like a tail, only with a distinct charring sensation that she wasn't sure that she liked or not but—

"CHAAR!"

With a shriek, the steel fangs shot outwards, letting the prey go, as Mawile sensed a fire of all things within her fangs, followed by a confirmation that yes, out of all things in the evil, cut-throat world, she had been unfortunate to bite right into a c_harmander's_ tail. The moment the fire-lizard had registered the pain, its tail flared up, nearly charring the top of her steel jaws.

Mawile leaped back, her large black jaw still smoking slightly, as digestive juices cooled down the remnants of the sudden inflammation. The tissue at the apex would be rejuvenated in a couple of hours, but it would leave a scorched taste in her mind until she got herself something really juicy. And currently, the head of the squeamish charmander— who was presently glaring daggers at her —seemed just fine as a replacement meal.

"Mawile? What happened?" Red rushed up to her, wide-eyed, staring at her still-smoking jaws.

Mawile clenched her teeth fiercely, glaring at her new challenger.

"Who did this to— A charmander?" Red was hit by several thoughts right at that same time. He wanted to express surprise at seeing a Charmander in the wild. He wanted to express his feelings on Mawile having hurt herself. He wanted to express his exhilaration at finding a wild Charmander to add to his team. He wanted to express his curiosity at what caused Mawile's jaws to smoke in the first place. His rapidly fleeting thoughts left him slightly disoriented, and he tried to express them all at once. So, it wasn't surprising that what came out was something like—

"Mawile, why are you... smoking … charmander?"

Mawile gave him a dead stare, telling him exactly what she thought of his contribution.

The charmander in question barked furiously, incensed at nearly having his precious tail amputated. Here he was minding his own business when this tiny monster came out of nowhere and promptly chomped on his tail. He protectively held his half-mutilated tail close to his chest, wincing at the throbbing pain its movement induced, while angrily glaring at Mawile.

Red was still stuck in an inter-mental loop regarding how he had been given a divine opportunity to capture a charmander. The Pallet Forest was a true haven, a place where he had found _true _happiness. If that wasn't a sign that some deity was watching over him, then what was?

"Zippo…what's wrong? Why are you— ?" A new, but positively human voice resounded from within the bushes. Two seconds later a face erupted from within. He was a young boy about Red's age, wore a maroon hat on his head, and seemed to be a trainer by the looks of it. "Your tail's bleeding. How— what happened?"

The charmander— Zippo, Red registered —only glared at Mawile.

"Is… Is that charmander yours?" Red croaked in despair, his dreams shattered. It was almost him reliving a moment in his childhood when he dreamt of beating the pokémon league and becoming Champion, only to be woken up by Kaz who so happened to be in a particularly sadistic mood. Though there was no bucket of water involved this time, he still felt as though someone had doused him in ice. He had wanted a charmander so badly for so long and to come across one in the wild, only to find out it was owned was heartbreaking.

"Yeah, and what of it?" The boy snapped, charmander's tail wound clearly agitating him. "You don't seem to give your pokémon— whatever it is —enough food, or else it wouldn't need to eat—"

_ **SNAP!** _

The boy yelped, falling down onto the ground, narrowly avoiding becoming a replacement meal for a clearly agitated Mawile. "It… it bites?"

"It also chews and swallows. And _Mawile _gets angry if you talk about her that way." Red replied in a casual tone, which combined with the innocent expression on Mawile's face, only managed to make the words sound more sinister.

The charmander barked again.

"Oh well…" The boy uneasily got up, the charmander rushing towards him, never allowing the mawile to leave his sight. He continued in a softer tone. "Why did you send your…?"

"Mawile." Red supplied helpfully.

"Mawile." The teen continued. "—to attack Zippo?"

Red glanced at Mawile, awaiting an explanation.

Mawile only raised her tiny hands and shrugged.

Zippo complained bitterly.

"I think Mawile just mistook your charmander for food," Red suggested. A part of his mind supplied that she was _still _considering the charmander as potential food, but he ruthlessly suppressed it.

"Oh well, I suppose it was just an honest mistake." The boy chuckled uneasily, clearly hesitating for a moment before he slowly extended his hand towards Red. "I'm Ritchie."

"Red."

"I haven't seen a… mawile, prior to this. Are you from some other region?"

"Nah! I'm from Pallet." Red indicated his starter "Mawile though… she's not from around here"

"I see." Ritchie gave the fairy another wary glance. "I'm from Frodomar City. I suppose that means you are a trainer registered for the Indigo Circuit?"

"Not exactly." Red rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. "I actually started my journey today."

Ritchie arched an eyebrow.

"Mawile is my first pokémon."

"…"

"…"

"Don't you think you're a bit late?"

"You figure that out by yourself?" Red muttered sarcastically, before his grim expression cleared up. "No worries." He sighed, "I'm pretty good at catching up."

"I hope so, for your own sake" Ritchie remarked, in an almost condescending fashion. "And this mawile is your only pokémon, so far?"

"So far," Red admitted. He casually wondered if Ritchie had been one to capture half a dozen on his first day out.

"I have six. Let me introduce you to the rest of my team. Come out, everyone." He quickly flicked his pokéballs off his belt, releasing his team.

Red didn't need a pokédex to identify the pokémon. Other than the dark blue avian that looked like a more streamlined pidgey, they were all Kanto-natives except for one, and rather common ones at that. There was a tentacool, a metapod, a nidorino and a—

Pikachu.

Red repressed the urge to take a step back. He would _not _show weakness to that creature. Not again.

Ritchie seemed oblivious to his reaction, as he went ahead and introduced his team. "That's my taillow, Chirpy, my metapod, Happy—"

_He doesn't really look all that happy to me. _Red mused.

"My tentacool, Squishy," he paused, "my nidorino, Princess, and my starter, Sparky." He indicated at the pikachu.

_Squishy? Princess? _Red suppressed a snicker.

"That's… nice." Red didn't know what else to say. He was hardly an expert on social behavior, but publicly trashing one's naming sense did not seem like an appropriate thing to do. He knew for a fact that most pokémon disregarded human naming conventions outright.

_Not that I can blame them. I can totally see him naming an alakazam 'Teaspoon' or something. I wonder how Kaz would react?_

"So," Red asked, wanting to change the subject, and ignoring the fact that the pikachu was now on top of Ritchie's shoulder. "What are you doing here in Pallet Forest?"

"I'm on my way to the Orange Archipelago. They have a local league as well as several unique species of pokémon. I was thinking of trying my luck there before attempting the more… difficult gyms in Kanto."

_Ah, so that's how it is. _"Why not go to Johto?"

Ritchie frowned. "Because I don't want to."

Red got a feeling that he was treading on unwelcome grounds and quickly aborted that line of questioning. "Well, I'm on my way to Viridian City. After that, I'm planning to get to Pewter and challenge the gym over there."

"Isn't that like… one of the easiest gyms in Kanto?" Ritchie snorted. "I tried Celadon myself. Erica's not as great as she seems. It took me a while, but I beat her. Fuchsia was the same. Lt. Surge of Vermillion though…" He shuddered, remembering his horrific experience at the hands of the electric-type gym leader.

Red rolled his eyes.

"What? You think differently?"

"Yeah. Erica was your first gym battle. Of course, it was easy. You'd have won it with a rattata."

"Huh!? What makes you say that?" Ritchie countered in indignation.

"Uhm, the Trainer and Gym regulations? Am I the only one that did any reading?"

"That's just legalese bullshit. Why should I read that?" Ritchie went on the defensive.

"Oh, no reason. It's just the list of rules that can get your license suspended if you break. It also happens to talk about the gym battle regulations."

Ritchie's ears had a slight reddish tinge. "What about them?"

Red sighed, giving up on the world. "The gym battles are supposed to get increasingly difficult with every win on your part. Obviously_, _you found Celadon and Fuchsia easy, they were your first two gyms."

"Big words for someone who's yet to win a badge." Ritchie taunted back, not willing to keep being the subject of a less-than-savory commentary. "Let's see how you face against one of mine."

Red arched an eyebrow. Apparently, Ritchie wasn't a big believer of the _'don't kill the messenger' _ideal. "I've just started out. I don't even have the required number of pokémon for an official battle."

"Of course, you don't." Ritchie snorted contemptuously. "It doesn't need to be an official one. One of mine, versus that… mawile was it? Let's see what we can make of your starter."

Mawile perked up at that.

Red considered the proposal for a moment, before clarifying. "My mawile versus what?"

"Zippo." Ritchie waved at his charmander. "He's been with me for quite some time, but hasn't evolved yet. Maybe this win will do some good to him."

Red was no expert, but he didn't think that Zippo shared Ritchie's confidence over the subject. Not especially since the charmander seemed clearly uncomfortable with the gleaming expression floating on Mawile's face.

_Mawile versus charmander. Who would have thought?_

"All right. No bets. One on one. No items allowed. First one to forfeit or lose consciousness loses." Red intoned.

Ritchie waved him off. "Just get started already."

The teen's words seemed to inject some confidence into the charmander, who stepped forward, his tail flame blazing brightly.

_Quite close to evolution, _Red noted.

Ritchie flipped his cap backward as if to make a statement, before pointing his fingers outward like Red had seen being done in some trashy TV soaps.

"Hope you and your mawile are ready then, 'cause your in for the fight of your life! Go Zippo, _I choose you._"

* * *

Red had to give it to the other trainer. The charmander was nimble and had an adequate array of moves. So far, he had seen it use both Fury Swipes and Headbutt, and it had now progressed to Ember. None of them had been remotely lethal since Mawile could easily brace through the impact with her metallic jaw. It was actually her vulnerability to fire-based attacks that was forcing this kind of caution.

"Leap up and bite it."

Mawile extended her jaws outward like a large scythe, deflecting stray Ember particles that she couldn't dodge before they got close to her skin. She leaped into the air, her fangs spread out wide almost as if she intended to swallow the charmander whole.

"Use Metal Claw," Ritchie commanded.

_Now he uses Metal Claw?_

Red felt slightly unimpressed. Metal Claw was a barely-intermediate level technique used by pokémon with claws (or other, similar appendages), by coating them with steel energy. It could be performed within a second by any barely competent ground or steel-type pokémon. Charmander on the other hand, was a pure fire-type, and thus, not only would Metal Claw take a considerably longer time to activate, it would also be inferior to a standard Metal Claw execution.

And that was ignoring the fact that Mawile was partly a steel-type. Charmander might as well be a sitting duck.

He had never been an exemplary student, but he did understand pokémon battling. And currently, Ritchie was up for a serious surprise.

"Use Astonish."

And everything _changed_ from Charmander's perspective. One moment, he had the ivory pokémon with those gaping jaws in the air above him, and the next, his entire body seemed to be gripped with a preternatural uneasiness_, _bringing premonitions about an inevitable misfortune that was about to strike him. He shivered, feeling the air turn cold around him, as if trying to suffocate him. The image of Mawile rushing towards him flickered, replaced by enormous, gaping jaws that were coming down at him in all directions. His own psyche was screaming that his attack was going to be inadequate.

Zippo flinched.

The layer of steel-energy slowly congregating on his claws flickered, and the Metal Claw failed.

"Zippo, lookout," Ritchie yelled.

"Maw…wile!" Her gargantuan jaws stabbed into the charmander's abdomen, crushing his arms, causing the fire-lizard to scream in agony.

"Pull yourself together Zippo!" Ritchie yelled. "Use Ember. It is a direct shot."

And it was. With her fangs around the charmander, Mawile was practically a sitting duck for a head-on Ember attack. The fire-lizard opened his maw vengefully, ready to belch out scorching flames at her.

If only it was that easy.

"Mawile, bite its tail."

Mawile was only too happy to follow. Relinquishing her hold on the fire lizard's abdomen, she quickly maneuvered behind the charmander and latched on to its tail. Making sure to avoid the fiery tip! Whatever Ember attack might have begun to form, it was quickly extinguished as the charmander screeched out in pain.

What followed was perhaps the most surreal thing that Red (and presumably Ritchie) had ever witnessed. Mawile lifted the lizard by its tail, up into the air and violently slammed the creature upon the ground.

_Repeatedly_.

"Zippo, escape. Use Ember, ignite your tail, DO SOMETHING" Ritchie screamed, as his features grew increasingly desperate with every passing second. Unfortunately, Zippo, who was looking more and more like a rag, wasn't really able to respond.

Red was so shocked that he actually let this go on for a while before he finally told Mawile to stop. "Umm… good job." Red said lamely, still caught up in her fascinating display.

Mawile lit up at the praise. This way of fighting was unconventional for her since anything within her jaws basically translated to food. Using her primary weapon in this way was new to her, but nonetheless interesting. Perhaps this was an outcome of fighting new pokémon? With an exuberant cheer, she let go of the tail, allowing the charmander to land on the ground, his entire body bruised and swollen.

Zippo did not move again.

"Zippo!" Ritchie yelled, running up to him, before picking him up from the ground. The charmander was bleeding and had multiple contusions all over his form. He was no medic, but even he could say that Zippo needed intensive treatment before it could be considered fit for further battling. Not even Lt. Surge of Vermillion city had been this barbaric!

_How… how can this be? I've trained and traveled so much. I grew my team from nothing and defeated so many trainers. How could I… How could this 'nobody' just defeat me like that?_

Rage erupted in his mind as he glanced at the bruises and the openly bleeding wounds on his first pokémon. _This… a starter did this? _A side-glance at the creature only confirmed that while Mawile was tired, she was far from reaching the point of exhaustion. It was unreal. Silently, Ritchie returned the charmander into his pokéball, before glaring at Red.

"What kind of savagery is that? How can you just stand there like that? Look at what that monster did to my Zippo!"

"What happened is that Mawile defeated your charmander fair and square." He raised a finger to prevent Ritchie from exploding again. "I get that she might have gone slightly… overboard." He carefully avoided looking at Mawile as he continued. "And trust me, I will talk to her about it. But more importantly, though, why didn't you forfeit the match?"

Ritchie sent a withering glare at him.

"You didn't." Red continued. "Because your pride didn't allow you to forfeit in front of a… _badge-less rookie, _was it? If I had told Mawile to let go earlier, wouldn't your charmander have attacked? If you forfeited, I could have had her stop immediately, without fearing that she may get hurt. You allowed your charmander to sustain the damage, and now you call my mawile's actions savagery. How pathetic._"_

And that did it. Somewhere between Red's harsh words, Zippo's condition and his unpalatable defeat, Ritchie snapped.

"I'll show you who's pathetic." he sneered, "Chirpy, use gust."

The taillow shot off like a rocket into the air, screeching madly at Mawile, before beating its wings furiously, easily manipulating air currents into a miniature gale of dry wind, which lashed down towards Mawile on the ground.

"Hide behind your jaws!" Red yelled, before glaring at the other teen. "That was uncalled for. You cannot just randomly attack my pokémon out of battle."

His words fell on deaf ears.

"Use Double Team."

The taillow's eyes glowed with an eldritch power, as the air around it seemed to flicker for a moment. Almost instantly, three more taillow appeared around the original. All four of them screeched in unison, circling the hapless creature on the ground, before swooping down towards their prey.

Mawile watched the four avians swoop down at her from the skies, and raised her steel jaw upward to shield herself from damage. The first avian hit the jaw, before dissipating, followed by another, and then another, each coming from a different direction with the last hitting her perpendicularly from above. Every single time those optical illusions dispersed, Mawile felt a sudden elation, and at the same time, her instincts screamed to her that her next time might not be that lucky.

"Low!" A sudden screech rang in her ears, as the real taillow tore into her from behind, slashing against her left arm, bruising it.

Mawile cursed.

"Ritchie, stop that," Red growled. "This is enough."

"Why? Don't like it when your pokémon is the one being played with?" Ritchie taunted. "Use Double Team again, and go ahead with Wing Attack."

Red widened his eyes in recognition. Double Team employed the creation of optical illusions using meager amounts of psychic energy. Originally, the idea wasn't to utilize the mirror images of the pokémon to trick the opponent into using techniques on its doppelgangers, but with trainers usually yelling out their commands, Double Team had been renditioned into an evasive maneuver at best.

Mawile's anatomy didn't really allow her the advantage of speed, thus putting her in an extremely disadvantageous position as long as Taillow continued its assault from the air. What Ritchie was doing was illegal and immoral, but it did a wonderful job of shattering all illusions of Mawile's invincibility.

_And here I was planning to make her battle dragons. Was I really that naive?_

Mawile screamed as the taillow landed a hit for the second time. A gash appeared on her right shoulder, blood slowly oozing out. She hissed in pain before taking up an offensive stance. Red could almost see the air around her jaws slowly simmering.

_What is she ...? _"Mawile, use Icy Wind."

Mawile stopped in her tracks, listening to the strange command her trainer had just suggested. She was almost about to use her Iron Head, in the hope that she might hit the real taillow, and if not, then at least deflect the incoming attack away. But what Red was suggesting was… odd.

"Mawile," Red repeated, his voice slightly hoarse. "Use Icy Wind. Spread it out."

_Ah. So that's how it is. _Mawile let out a squeak in elation, before closing her eyes. For that one moment, she wasn't in the middle of the forest, defending against the vicious taillow. Instead, she was back on Pomace Mountain, in the middle of ice and snow. She wasn't the one bleeding, she was the _predator._

Mawile's lips twisted, as she gazed back at the taillow, smiling peacefully through her eyes.

As a fairy-type, the ability to mutate the more esoteric elements, namely psychic, ghost, and dark, came pretty easily to her. One of her parents had been a beartic, from whom she had gotten her affinity for manipulating ice and snow. Living on Pomace Mountain had given her a prime environment to develop her skills.

Back there, she had no use for Icy Wind. It had been something she had simply been developing on her own. with the entire land enveloped in glaciers and snow, her deception and her steel jaws had been more than enough to prey on whatever she required. This was the first time in her life that she was using the skill in battle, and ironically, it was to keep herself from becoming _prey._

_Such is the life of the deceiver. _Mawile almost chuckled at the irony. Her fairy energies swirled around herself before she relinquished her hold on the ice.

The poor thing never saw it coming.

It wasn't just a gale of chilling wind and powdery snow. It was hoarfrost, shattered into tiny fragments by the force of the howling wind, shot brazenly in the taillow's general direction. The tiny avian was swift, there was no doubt about it. However, there was only so much one could dodge if the very air around it had turned cold. Several fragments of sharp ice hit it talons, causing the avian to screech in fury.

"Use Double Team, again. Finish her." Ritchie snarled.

Taillow screeched again, but this time, only a single optical clone appeared, before flickering out of existence.

"What?" Ritchie murmured, taken aback. Double Team was one of the most basic moves that were sold as TMs. As long as the pokémon in question wasn't a pure dark-type, it was able to use it with considerable efficiency. For a flying-type, the idea of losing control over Double Team was almost laughable.

"You cannot maintain a psychic illusion if you cannot focus. Your taillow is shivering too much for that." Red pointed out in a half-condescending tone.

"Worry about your own pokémon first!" Ritchie shot back. "Finish it with Wing Attack, Chirpy."

The taillow squawked angrily, beating its wings to drive away the cold, before swooping down towards Mawile, its sharp beak ready to spear through her delicate flesh.

"Mawile, get ready_," _Red instructed.

"Wile!" Mawile acknowledged, steel energy flickering all around her jaw. Mawile moved forward, her metal flap revolving in a quick circle, gathering momentum before—

**SLAM!**

Taillow's beak met raw, energized steel.

It began with a slight creak, before the overwhelming force fractured the taillow's beak, actually pushing the shattered parts into its skull. The poor bird was in just enough pain to realize that something went wrong before the momentum of the swing sent it flying back into a tree trunk. After a second, it slowly slid down to the ground.

Red winced. _That's not getting up for a while_.

Ritchie blanched as he saw the taillow slide down to the ground, his shoulders shaking in shock, rage, embarrassment and untold amounts of frustration. His features became more and more hysterical with every passing second, as he watched his team get taken apart, his eyes now close to being flooded with tears. "You… I will… Sparky, Princess, attack it. _Kill _the damn thing."

"Enough!" Red snarled, raising his pokéball. Without further ado, he clicked upon the red button, sending out a jet of red light, towards his starter, hoping to get her back before things took a nastier turn. Unfortunately, Sparky had something else in mind. The pikachu leaped off Ritchie's shoulder, and intercepted the red light with its own body, before firing an arc of electricity towards Red.

Red screamed.

For that one moment, he was back to Oak's lab, extending his hands out to the pokémon he had wanted to be his starter, his future best friend, his new family. Instead, all he got was a malevolent grin and agonizing pain. Right there, in the forest, as he saw the arc of lightning drag its path through the air streaking towards his person, Red lost his hold on reality and fell down to the ground.

And then he screamed.

At that moment, several things happened.

Something around his person _changed. _Princess— Ritchie's nidorino, and Sparky the pikachu, felt an unnatural shift in the space around them, the surrounding world itself seemed to freeze. Sparky tried to leap off into the air, pushing his tail into the ground, but it felt like his entire body had been frozen in space. A strained glance at Ritchie told him that like him, the teen had also frozen, just like that.

The problem was, not everyone had been the subject of this apparent spatial paralysis.

Mawile didn't sense the sudden change in the air. She didn't care that both the pikachu and the nidorino were somewhat… frozen in space. All that mattered was that Red was screaming, and this little rodent had tried to kill him. Just like that damned raichu had tried to kill Mabel.

She was going to make it suffer.

Steel energy washed over her black jaw, as Mawile snarled_, _smashing the nidorino away with a single hit on the back of its head. Princess bawled over in pain, as it tumbled over the ground, bruising one of its hind legs. From the way it limped unsteadily, it had probably fractured the leg.

Mawile continued undaunted. The nidorino was simply an obstacle impeding her path. Her steel jaw snapped menacingly, as she got closer to the rodent. Crossing the last bit of distance towards the unresisting pikachu, she bit into its tail with extreme prejudice. Gathering momentum as she pulled the pikachu in her jaws, she tossed the electric-type into the air, not caring that over half of its tail had been torn through leaking profuse amounts of blood.

And Mawile still wasn't done. She let out a war cry before stomping towards the fallen body and slammed her jaw into the pikachu's cheek, straight into its electric pouch. The sheer force of the blow sent the rodent spinning in the air, before falling face-first into the ground. It appeared comatose, its body spasmed gently as stray electric sparks jumped out of its ruined electric pouch and trailed down its body.

"Mawile?"

Mawile shot a feral look in the direction of the sound, only to recognize the source. Red seemed to be slightly disoriented and was weakly staring in her general direction. For a brief moment, Mawile wondered if Red would leave her, having seen her feral brutality upfront. It wasn't unprecedented since many on Pomace Mountain had shied away from her over the same.

Mawile breathed out. "Wile!" She had prepared herself to be treated with wariness and caution, but instead, she felt his hands entwine around her abdomen as he pulled her up. Before she realized what was happening, Red had grabbed her, held her close to his chest, and fled into the forest.

* * *

At first, it was the start of a grand and momentous journey, and then, in an instant, everything changed. Ritchie, the young teen had seemed like an ordinary trainer like himself. A tad dumb in certain things, but an ordinary trainer nonetheless. The initial fight with the charmander had been slightly trifling but had morphed into an ugly manifestation of madness. This ordinary trainer had been actively trying to _murder _his Mawile, and yet another pikachu had tried to kill him. He was really suspecting that the pikachu-line had something against him.

Was it so surprising that he had grabbed Mawile and ran?

Red wasn't sure how the arc of lightning had missed him, not that he was complaining. One moment he was screaming, his mind torn between trying to survive and acknowledging, perhaps even accepting the possibility of death. The next moment, he had seen Mawile leap off, and slam into the electric rodent, almost tearing its tail in half. For someone who had worked as an assistant in a ranch, seeing a pokémon (even if it was a pikachu) get mutilated like that felt… horrible, but he was way too involved to care. His mind was preoccupied with a single thought.

_Ritchie has six pokémon. Two are gone, and one tried to kill me. He still has three pokémon left._

Nothing else mattered. He had taken up Mawile in his arms, ignoring the fairy's surprised squeak, and sprinted off into the darkness of the forest.

That was two hours ago.

If this was the kind of excitement and adventure found in a trainer's journey, Red would rather have less of it. He found himself a comfortably large trunk to lean against, dropping his backpack on the grassy floor.

"Wile!" Mawile angrily kicked a tuft of wildflowers blooming on the ground, exterminating it with extreme prejudice.

_Apparently, she doesn't agree with me. _Red mused. Mawile had been somewhat… disgruntled, ever since they had deserted from the fight against Ritchie and his horribly-named pokémon.

"Something got you into a horrible mood?"

Mawile glared at her trainer.

_YES!_

She was terribly infuriated that Red had taken her away from what was essentially a win, and made her look like a fleeing coward instead.

"Mawile, you aren't saying anything."

"Maw… Mawile!"

"You are angry about Rit— that guy attacking us like that, right?" Red guessed.

Mawile let out a long-suffering sigh. Pokémon understood other pokémon. Pokémon understood the human tongue. Humans did not understand pokémon. Yet, humans were the supreme species on the planet. Either she was missing something, or the world was hopelessly wrong.

Or perhaps simply ignoring the rules.

She sighed again. "Wile!"

"I'm sorry you had to deal with that jerk," Red muttered, stretching his hands and feet, pushing his back against the large Oran berry tree. He had plucked several sweet berries from the lower branches, not an inordinate amount but enough to fill their stomachs until they decided to call it a day. Oran berries were pretty much the pokémon version of health supplements, and even humans could eat them without any repercussions, provided the intake stayed with limits. The average human would easily declare a single berry enough for the replacement of a homely meal, while most pokémon would easily munch three to five. It probably had something to do with their innately high metabolism rate when compared to their trainers.

Oran berries, like the Pecha and the Chilan berry trees, were native to Kanto. That being said, there had been intensive cultivation of the Sitrus berry— a plant from Sinnoh-in the greenhouses of Kanto. The major reason for that was that the Sitrus berries provided nearly three times the amount of health supplements than an average Oran berry, but the trees required extreme cold and mountain soil to survive, making the mountainous and snowy land of Sinnoh the ideal habitat for them. In fact, nearly half of Sinnoh's revenue was from the mass export of Sitrus and Rowap berries. Some eleven years ago, the Kanto government had gone ahead with the construction of greenhouses to cultivate Sitrus berries— which hadn't aided in the already increasing hostilities between Kanto and Sinnoh back then. The Rubeus Plantation, located north-west of Pallet Town, was the brainchild of Erica Flores, Celadon City Gym Leader, and Grass Mistress. It was one of the largest glasshouses in all of Kanto, built to provide a pseudo-natural environment identical to Mt. Coronet of Sinnoh, and was the leading producer of Sitrus berry in the region.

"Come on, try this one out. These berries are sweeter." Red gently coaxed.

Reluctantly enough, Mawile let go of her inner conflict and accepted it with her tiny hands. A few little nibbles and Mawile was cooing softly, munching the red berries in her hands. Mawile, Red realized, had an innate talent for choosing the sweeter berries from the comparatively sour ones. He had studied that certain pokémon were able to do this, sometimes by vibrations and mostly by smell, this was, however, the first time he was seeing it happen in front of his own eyes. Once the sweetened ones were dealt with, her terrifying jaw came out and snagged the rest in one go. The mechanism was clear-the frontal mouth was for things she could savor and taste. Everything else was taken care of by her gigantic maw on the posterior end of her head.

"You must have been really hungry." He chuckled.

"Maw…" the deceiver pokémon moaned in contentment.

"Heh!" Red chuckled. "It's barely a day and yet it feels like we've been journeying for weeks. Is this what everyone else feels on their journey?"

Mawile shrugged. She didn't care about others. Others were supposed to care about her. Well, her trainer might be an exception to the former, by a little bit. And then there was Mabel, but that was neither here nor there. A part of her did feel slightly nostalgic about Mabel, and her own mother, but she had chosen to see the world, and she would achieve her objective without reservation.

"Hey, Mawile…"

Said pokémon tilted her head in his direction.

"I was thinking of our battle with that charmander." He caressed her head, making her moan in delight. "You did excellently, of course." He paused. "That said, Ritchie also lost because of improper planning."

Mawile arched an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Charmander is a fire-type. It would take at least a couple of seconds to generate the necessary steel-type energy to procure an efficient Metal Claw. Besides, it was on the ground and was only moving its claw upward. You, on the other hand, were up in the air, and had the advantage of both momentum and gravity to score a powerful hit. Furthermore, he used a steel-type attack as well, which don't come naturally to them. There was little chance of it winning the exchange."

Mawile took a moment to bask in her victory.

"That said, if Ritchie had ordered a long-range attack like Ember, or perhaps, if Charmander had known Flamethrower, you'd be at a massive disadvantage. A fire attack to your jaw could cause significant damage to the metal, allowing Charmander the time to use a fully formed Metal Claw in that interval. Which would result in your defeat, and more importantly, potential injury."

The smile on her face vanished instantly.

"What I want to say is, the same trick won't work every time. You need to be prepared in case the opponent uses a long-ranged technique, like a Flamethrower or some sort of beam."

Mawile bobbed her head, inwardly wondering just how speculative her trainer was, as far as battling was concerned. For her, it was all about the adrenaline rush as well as the feeling of domination over creatures larger than herself. Red's… logical and speculative approach seemed alien to her.

"There's also this thing."

Mawile looked up.

"You were conflicted during the fight against that taillow of his. I asked you to use Icy Wind, but you were working on Iron head instead."

Mawile didn't shirk off from that statement. She knew for a fact that humans preferred their pokémon to obey their every command in battle. In fact, most trained pokémon out there were little more than versatile puppets, in the absence of their trainer's orders. Being the independent little thing that she was, Mawile wondered how the human—_how_ _Red —_would take it.

Red's blue eyes met Mawile's black ones. He could almost see the answer in her eyes.

_I did. And what of it?_

"I'm…" Red spoke after a moment, "not angry with you or anything. Just curious. Did you really believe that Iron Head would be a better alternative than Icy Wind?"

Mawile shook her head vigorously. As a remarkably free pokémon all her life, Mawile had never been subjected to the _Double Team _experience. If not for the fact that the images shattered when she hit them, she'd have never believed that the other three were illusions.

"I suppose I cannot fault you for that." Red bit into his lip. "Taillow was in her domain and had the advantage of speed as well. If Iron Head had hit it successfully, she might have been defeated."

He paused. "But Icy Wind stopped it from using Double Team, which is why I suggested it in the first place. By the way, that was an awesome demonstration. You're really good with that move."

Mawile couldn't help it. She raised her head high, and crossed her arms in front of her chest as if to say-_'praise me more'._

Red chuckled at that before his expression turned speculative once again. "But that said, it was also because of Ritchie's fault that the taillow was defeated. After Icy Wind, Double Team wouldn't work, but what would you do if it remained in the air and spammed Gust. Or even worse, if it knew something like Air Cutter."

That dropped the smile right of Mawile's face.

"Your moveset can't really deal with a pokémon that abuses its aerial supremacy, to simply stay out of your range and bombard you with long-range maneuvers. Next time we might not be so lucky against a flying-type. We need something to cover this—" Red paused before he finally came up with an alternative for 'weakness'" —this disadvantage. A way for you to deal with pokémon who abuse the effects of terrain."

Only one answer popped up in his mind at the moment. He'd need to purchase it after reaching Viridian City. And probably Double Team as well. If used with Astonish, the combination was a far better deceptive tactic than most. It would also fit into Mawile's strategy.

"I have something in mind. We can address this issue when we get to Viridian." He promised. "Let's set up camp and call it a day."

Mawile yawned cutely, before walking up to him. Allowing her steel jaw to lean into the tree trunk, Mawile pushed herself down beside her trainer and sunk her head into his shirt. A couple of mewls later and she was fast asleep.

* * *

**The next day**

The Pallet forest had its own share of creeping, crawling pokémon along with a few more mobile ones. Occasionally, Red would even spot a diglett peeping out from its hole in the ground, or a rattata running around, perhaps trying to find a rare weedle on the forest floor. He had set up camp in the early hours of the evening, and after a few attempts, managed to create something edible for himself and his starter. The food had been subpar compared to his mom's legendary culinary skills, but they had to make do with it.

Thankfully, his first two attempts hadn't been bad enough for Mawile to lose all hope on her trainer and abandon him in the brutal wilderness. He had pampered the little fairy quite a bit to get her to forgive him for his first attempt. Which involved cuddles. Lots of cuddles.

Yes, it was official. Mawile _really_ liked cuddles. This was unless she was trying to seduce her prey with her impish charm and cute stature, drawing them closer and closer until, with an adorable smile, she swallowed them whole.

They were still several miles away from the outskirts of Viridian city and in all probability, would have to sleep in a tent once again, before getting access to the divine comforts of a proper bed at the Viridian Pokémon Center.

"Squawk!"

The sudden noise shook Red out of his reverie. A couple of yards to his left, he could see something spiky and brown. As he moved a step closer, he was able to make out wings on its back and a beak. Of course, if he was right, he'd need to approach it with extreme caution and—

"Maw… wile!"

Red nearly lost it for a second. While he had been lost in his thoughts, Mawile had decided to go ahead and _introduce _herself to her new acquaintance, and by the way, the avian was looking at her, it seemed like her charm was working perfectly. Maybe all that philosophical bullshit about love at first sight had something to it after all.

He reached into his belt pocket and pulled out his pokédex. He was a little excited as he pressed the button. Something about using the dex to scan a pokémon he encountered made him feel like a real trainer. He pointed the pokédex at the creature in front of him and with a quick beep it provided him with information about the target.

**Spearow, the tiny bird pokémon. Spearow have loud cries that can be heard over half a mile away. If its high, keening cry is heard echoing all around, it is a sign that they are warning each other of danger.**

_Whoa. _Red mused for a second. This thing worked perfectly. The scanning ability was faster than he had anticipated. He had played with the pokédex's functions before starting his journey. It could scan things almost instantly in the right conditions, though it could take longer depending upon factors such as light sensitivity and distance from the object. Also, according to Oak, it held information about pokémon non-native to Kanto, but he wasn't sure how helpful that would be.

He reluctantly took a step closer, his fingers releasing an empty pokéball from his belt, as he proceeded to throw it at the unsuspecting pokémon.

_Just a little closer now. _Red focused intensely as he inched forward.

_Keep on doing that Mawile! You're perfect. Keep it focussed on you while I throw this ball at it. I'll capture it in one go._

Red threw the pokéball. It formed a perfect arc as it traveled through the air, rotating all the way. He could almost see how the spearow would see the pokéball coming at it, feel a surge of panic in its heart, but it would be useless. Oh, so, so useless. Then the pokéball would hit it directly in the head, and spearow would get sucked into—

CRUNCH!

His jaws did not really drop down to the floor, but the sentiment did match it. Before the pokéball had gotten remotely close to the avian, Mawile's strangely clairvoyant jaws had reached into the air, snapped the unfortunate pokéball out of its trajectory, and crushed it with extreme prejudice, before swallowing it whole.

….

It felt bad. It felt really bad. In fact, it felt so bad that Red indignantly raised his head upwards and opened his mouth to scream at his irresponsible and fundamentally-irritating starter about its utter lack of—

"Maw…wile?"

It must be noted that with an entire week's exposure to Mawile and her charms, Red did not instantly give in to her adorable face. No, he resisted for four whole seconds before folding like a pack of cards.

"I was waiting to catch the spearow, Mawile. I didn't want you to eat the pokéball."

"…Wile?" Mawile tilted her head in confusion before she lit up with comprehension and cooed back in acknowledgment.

She had finally understood, Red presumed, and hopefully, she knew that with the clandestine approach wasted, she would have to fight for her trainer and defeat the spearow and—

"SQUAWK!"

Mawile's large jaws gobbled Spearow up, engulfing over eighty percent of said avian inside her steel fangs. The poor spearow in question had simply come down from its nest in search of food and had now become prey to this ridiculous, little yellow thing. Such are the ironies of life.

Then the pain started, and with that, the squawking began in earnest.

"Mawile!" Red exclaimed, literally crouching down on the forest floor next to her "Don't eat that. I need to catch it for God's sake, so please do not eat it."

Mawile tilted her head slightly, before nodding in comprehension.

Red sighed with little elation. Yes, he would finally have his second pokémon, even if it was a spearow, and a baby one at that. He'd grow his little spearow into a powerful and fearsome fearow exactly like the one right next to him and would use him to defeat all kinds of powerful pokémon and—

…..

Wait.

There was something wrong with the statement.

Red considered it again. And paled.

An immense, fearsome, and obviously enraged fearow had just perched right next to him. Close enough that it could drive its beak through his neck and back before he even registered its presence. Logic shut down, and instinct rose. Or perhaps it was just his sense of coordination failing, as he stumbled to the ground, tumbling over until he ended up on the ground beside Mawile, who still had the spearow in her jaws.

"…row!" The fearow threatened them.

Red instantly prepared to escape, ready for a fight for his life. Mawile made no movement but the spearow let out another squawk.

The fearow raised its wings, its threatening eyes making Red wonder why he wasn't already dead. As the wings extended outwards, a tinge of blue began to appear on them. Evidently it was forming an attack.

_We're screwed._

"Wait, wait, wait," Red interrupted, gaining a little of his courage back. "Look, we're sorry. Mawile didn't mean to do it, and it was a mistake. If we let the spearow go, will you please let us leave?"

The fearow continued to power up its move.

"Squawk!" The unfortunate victimized spearow cried out.

"…"

"…"

That seemed to generate a reaction out of the fearow, who stopped midway, her wings returning back to their normal shades, before letting out an angry screech. The vibrations stemming from such a high-pitched sound threatened to tear Red's eardrums. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the pain as he attempted to reorient himself and face what was looking to be the most dangerous challenge he had ever experienced. The fearow's eyes softened as it glanced at its captured child before it nodded begrudgingly. It spread its wings to the side, indicating a small area near it. It was an area where he could get back to the road fairly easily, Red realized. Apparently the fearow was trying to guarantee Red's safety after he released the spearow to ensure he didn't renege on the deal.

_We're actually going to survive. _Red rejoiced mentally.

"Alright let's walk to the road. Mawile, you can release the spearow once we get near the main road."

Said spearow in question let out a loud squawk in elation. He would finally be freed from this monster's clutches, free to spread his wings out, and then exact an unholy and terrible vengeance on this monster that had tried to charm it before making it its prey. He would carve entire tree trunks with this yellow creature's treacherous blood.

In short, he got excited, a little too much in fact, and in doing so, he unknowingly scratched the innards of Mawile's jaw with his claws.

In hindsight, that was a mistake.

Apparently, despite being made of pure, unadulterated steel, her menacing jaws did, in fact, happen to be ticklish. The moment the claws scraped over the hardened innards of her jaws, Mawile let out a short giggle.

Loudly.

As it turned out, the loud noise was actually the sound of a helpless spearow being gobbled up into Mawile's mouth and instantly digested by the highly corrosive, digestive juices within her steel jaws.

Mawile burped.

She looked at Red in confusion, then back to the fearow, and then back to Red again. Glancing at the fearow out of the corner of her eyes, she subtly shook her jaws, trying to eject the unfortunate spearow out.

Nothing happened.

Mawile turned to her human. "Maw…wile?"

Red gave his starter a blank stare, before turning towards the fearow.

The fearow was looking at Mawile in stunned silence, almost in disbelief, before it shifted its gaze to her lethal jaws which had just swallowed her baby spearow, and then back to Red.

Mawile burped. Again.

_We're dead. _Red reaffirmed. "Uh… Mawile, get ready to run."

"…wile?" Mawile looked at him in incomprehension, before glancing at the fearow, as the realization of what she had done began to dawn on her.

_Oh._

"Maw...wile." She confirmed and began to sprint towards whichever direction came to mind. Yes, any direction that led away from the angry predator seemed good enough.

"Yes," Red confirmed, more to himself than to her, as he turned to face the fearow again, who looked all but ready to imitate his starter and swallow him whole. Considering the sharp beak and those lethal claws, Red had no doubt that death by mutilation wasn't something he really wanted. But there was also Mawile to consider. There was no way that he'd allow anything to happen to mawile, even if he had to stand and fight against the entire flock of spearow and their ferocious leader.

"Get ready, Mawile… We need to—"

The rest of the words died down his throat, as he felt something extremely horrible happen. It was one of those premonitions that came before death when one was on the verge of doing something terribly heroic and suicidal.

"...Mawile?"

Nothing at all.

Red turned around, noticing the sudden emptiness in the space where Mawile once stood. Even from his point, he could still see the little yellow thing trying to run her way out of the situation.

_Did she just abandon me when I was trying to save her? I cannot believe—_

"Wile!" Mawile yelled from her vantage point, several yards away, raising her large jaws upwards in the air, in the hope that her somewhat goofy trainer would spot it.

_Oh. _Red confirmed. _Well, that's hardly any better._

Fearow let out a loud screech.

"GAAH!" Red yelled, before turning around and sprinting his way, right behind his starter's tracks.

And that was how the Great Fearow Chase of the Pallet Forest began.

* * *

Kaz had been Delia's pokémon for as long as he could remember, starting from when he had hatched into a tiny abra from an egg 15 years ago, doing nothing but sleeping all day accumulating enough energy to evolve, to the Alakazam he was today. Delia being a researcher had never really focussed on the training aspect of Abra's growth, allowing him to grow at his own comfortable pace. It had taken a little over a year, for him to develop the will and power requirements required for his evolution.

Abra had become Kadabra. It had been more than an evolution. Unlike his earlier self, Kaz had become a self-valuing psychic. Kaz was inquisitive, even when compared to psychic standards. Where Abra preferred to sleep and store power, Kaz had gained a fetish for knowledge. Abra had been a baby psychic pokémon, but Kaz was a researcher. Further evolution into Alakazam some seven years later had only made him more obsessive.

Just like his trainer, or as he liked to address her, his _mother._

Over the better part of the last two decades, Kaz had been a part of Delia's life as a researcher, and in a manner of speaking, reinforced her desire to study the psychic-type in addition to her duties as Oak's assistant. Between the mass availability of knowledge at the Oak Laboratory, access to inter-regional Database, and most importantly, Oak's alakazam's tutelage, he had grown, taking it upon himself to meticulously study, experiment and develop all possible abilities that he might be able to develop in his current state. The more he studied, the more his mind elevated, and the more he was able to comprehend the existence that was psychic energy. Of course, Kaz was at most, an expert connoisseur of the subject, his interests being mainly of the intellectual variety, rather than the physical aspect of it, unlike the senior and infinitely more battle-hardened alakazam.

And that brought him to the present situation.

He wasn't too fond of Red, that much was clear. However, Delia loved her son, and so, Kaz tolerated him, or at least that was what he told himself. He liked to think that the boy would sooner or later, develop bits of his mother's genes, and perhaps in time, would become someone worthy of a tiny bit of acknowledgment from him.

And then, around a month ago, the midget had gotten himself electrocuted by an electric rodent. One would think that the klutz would know better than to directly interact with an unknown electric-type like that, but Red was funny like that. If not for the fact that Delia was worried to tears, Kaz might have even laughed at the boy's misfortune.

The fact that Kaz had slammed said electric rodent with a sepulcher-lock_, _slamming powerful psychic energies from six directions at the same time was not at all related to the fact that the Pikachu had hurt Red. No, he simply disliked the electric-type in general, because it was damaging the wires of the lab. Nothing else. It was merely a coincidence that his judgment had befallen the unfortunate rodent merely an hour post-Red's accident.

However, it seemed that even electrocution hadn't been enough to activate common-sense in the boy, who had then proceeded to accept that ridiculously annoying little creature as his starter, one that seemed to differentiate the world into things she could eat and things she couldn't. The little monster had gone for Kaz as well, but a psychic barrier had kept him safe. He liked his tail un-mutilated and in order, thank you very much.

And that brought him to the current situation.

"_I fear that Red might have problems dealing with Mawile in the beginning. I think Delia would feel better knowing that there's someone out there, ensuring that her son stays safe until he's gotten ahold of being a trainer in the wild. If only there was a way to ensure a silent watch on his person without his knowledge…(sigh)"_

Never let it be said that Samuel Oak was above emotionally blackmailing pokémon species. The fact that the target of his blackmail happened to be a psychic, only added to the grim nature of the situation. Kaz didn't know what that said about the man.

He had sensed his _baby brother_ choose the forest path instead of the proper, established, and more importantly, safer route. Trust him to literally walk towards danger. It was official, the boy was suicidal.

He had teleported in the middle of the forest, and calmly observed the ongoing duel between the midget and the arrogant midget-lookalike. The lookalike even had a pikachu on his person. Maybe in another world, Red would have been moronic enough to accept the rat as his starter despite his electrocution. In fact, it was probably Kaz's own magnificent presence that prevented such an outcome. It was probably for the best that the teen and the rodent weren't together. The world and nature were indebted to Kaz for his silent role in ensuring that. Or at least, they should be.

As the battles continued, Kaz grudgingly admitting that Red did have a good head on his shoulders. At the very least he seemed to temporarily acquire a certain modicum of common sense, preventing him from influencing his pokémon into making mindless moves. Or was it his own presence that was keeping the boy's unusually low IQ at bay?

Then, the other midget, the one who had the audacity to name his metapod Happy_, _completely flipped out and commanded his pokémon to outright attack Mawile. That pikachu had the gall to throw a lightning attack on his baby brother. Trust the electric rodent to try and finish the other pikachu's unfinished business with Red.

_Seriously? Why are all these pikachu after Red's life?_

It demanded some serious thought. Perhaps his teacher might have some knowledge on the subject.

Either way, he had not taken the brazen attack on Delia's boy too well and had frozen the space around the pikachu and the nidorino. He had almost smirked at their pitiful attempts at trying to break out of his Psychic.

Like the little electric-type had any business trying to overpower a psychic ward. It was so pitiful; it probably didn't even realize what was going on.

The psychic lock had given the gluttonous fairy enough time to return to her senses and ferociously retaliate. Kaz had to give it to her. The mawile had admirable levels of bloodlust in her system. The nidorino was superficially bruised, but the pikachu's wounds were far more serious. Wounds like that did not heal easily, not even through the use of the latest technology. Such injuries would persist, and even should the fool use a Thunder Stone to evolve the rodent, it was quite possible that some of the wounds would carry. Kaz wouldn't, of course, be there to see it, but the results would surely be beautiful.

The little tyke sure had some baggage of her own, but it seemed like Red had found himself a rather fitting starter and companion in the mawile. He was sure of it.

…

…

…

On second thought, he might have spoken too soon. The fairy monster seemed to have a fetish for trying to swallowing things not meant to be swallowed in the first place. A part of him wondered if his little step-brother would forever remain a rookie because she kept ruining his attempts to capture pokémon.

At least Red had some talent in diplomacy. He'd give him that. Not many humans in his position could adequately negotiate with an angry fearow of all things while holding its baby spearow hostage.

Then again, he should have expected this. It was natural that even an instinctual brute would gain some amount of adroitness, in the presence of a consummate scientist and philosopher like himself.

He saw Red stand true and hold his ground, despite the fearow's attempt at intimidation and mentally gave the brat a few more points. By the looks of it, the large bird of prey seemed to be considering the deal if nothing else.

_But just in case… _Kaz raised his spoons in their direction.

The captured Spearow let out another squawk, and the Fearow slowly voiced his agreement, albeit with extreme reluctance.

_It would do,_ Kaz mused. _Good job, brat. Keep this going and in a few years, you might call yourself intelligent enough to hold an intellectual conversation with me._

BLURP!

Wait a second. That didn't just happen, did it? Kaz ruthlessly suppressed his urge to gawk, his eyes trying to comprehend what had just happened. He could see Mawile look at Red blankly, then back at the fearow, and then hopelessly try to throw back the Spearow that she had _gobbled _up in one go.

Kaz sighed.

_I almost feel sorry for him now._

Red and Mawile raced their way through the forest, with a furious spearow flock, and a vindictive fearow right behind them, vying for blood. Kaz raised his spoons, his eyes flickered an iridescent blue, as a psychic shield erected between Red and the flock, the latter slamming hard against the psychic barrier. The alakazam winced, feeling the entire momentum of the flock ram against his psychic power. The fearow seemed slightly disoriented, but that would do for now.

_This will be easy._

His pupils glowed again, before he teleported, appearing directly behind his barrier. Calling upon his entire reserves, Kaz created an enormous blanket of psychic energy, enough to envelop the entire spearow flock within it, before unleashing it towards the flying-types. The moment he felt the flying-types fall under his mental power, he induced confusion in their minds. For pokémon of that speed and dexterity, the spearow-line was rather easy to confound.

Yes, he was speaking from experience.

_Bah! I'm too old for this. _Kaz sighed. His job was done, now the only thing left here would be to inform those two retards that they didn't need to keep running and— _wait, that's not the direction you need to go, that's the —_

SPLASH!

—_The river._

Apparently, Red and the little monster had jumped off the precipice, right into the river that flowed beneath.

For a moment, a little frown appeared on his face, silently pondering over whether he should intervene before the boy sunk beneath the water. Then, to his elation, he saw two tiny heads appear in the current, with Mawile's large maw biting into Red's backpack, holding onto him firmly as she tried to swim her way against the current. Kaz created a small psychic shield around the duo to ensure they wouldn't hit a rock and die. The current wasn't very strong and the surrounding mud was soft, but he wouldn't put it past the kid to find a way to kill himself regardless.

_Well, at least this way they will reach Viridian faster. _Kaz winced, as he felt the aftereffects of using all that psychic power in one go take its effect on him. Maybe he'd come back after a couple of hours and see what the unfortunate duo was doing.

Yeah, that seemed like a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	3. Act 1 - Immolation | Chapter 3 - Shel-fishness

**Two months ago**

"_I can't understand this ridiculous obsession of yours, Mawile. What is it about this mountain that disappoints you so much?"_

_Mawile grit her teeth. Ever since her birth, the Pomace Mountain had been her world. Her childhood had been spent between Mabel's beautiful garden and the snow-laden peaks. Mawile as a species weren't exactly big on parent-child affection, and it was natural for adult mawile to let their young ones fend for themselves, leaving them to hunt and survive on their own. In fact, it was almost a characteristic trait for young mawile to go out and learn to employ deception and charm to gather food, and in turn, become a predator when their entire body physiology was built to be the ideal prey._

_Mabel just didn't understand. She seemed to think that Mawile would be happy, having all her food brought to her, and lazing around in the safety of the mountain. Of course, being a human, she wasn't the one to blame in all of this. She had been a trainer back in her youth, and her Mawile, Elize, had been subjected to the difficulties that came with being a trained pokémon before Mabel had finally resigned to a life of solitude amidst the beautiful valley on Pomace Mountain. A couple of years into their stay, Elize had given birth to a little one, who had thus been limited all her life by the beautiful mountainous valley all around her. All her life she had been treated like she was made of porcelain and her more predatory tendencies were simply treated as tantrums._

_That was Mawile's story. She was trapped in a gilded cage. It was ironic, but that didn't make it any less true. It wasn't like she had gained nothing from her stay, becoming strongly resistant to the ice element, and growing into a decent predator, but the main issue still remained._

"…_wile!" Mawile looked away. No, there was no point. Even Elize, her own mother, did not seem to understand it. She simply thought that Mawile was being a rebel, courtesy of her innocence and youth._

"_Fine!" Mabel sighed. "If that is what you really want, I will arrange something for you."_

_Mawile looked up in astonishment._

"_Samuel Oak is an old acquaintance of mine. I'll ask him if he can arrange something for you."_

_Mawile stared wide-eyed. This wasn't real, was it?_

"—_but only if you promise to put a curb on your gluttony. The world isn't divided into things that are food and things that aren't."_

_Mawile mentally shrugged her off. Mabel wasn't a mawile, so it was natural that she wouldn't understand._

_Mabel rolled her eyes at Mawile's facial expressions. "I'll tell you now. It is this stubborn streak of yours that has kept me from letting you go. If you disappoint Samuel or the trainer he gives you, then I'm afraid he'll send you back here right away."_

_That attracted Mawile's attention. So, she wasn't being set free, but only on a leash. Well that she could manage. Worst comes to worst, if the human turned out to be an imbecile, she'd just swallow him whole, and then walk her happy way out into the world. She could imagine that happening perfectly, but with that being said, she'd make it a point to try and compromise with this 'human trainer'. She owed this Oak human that much for being the ticket to her freedom._

* * *

**Present day**

Mawile clenched her trainer's shirt with her powerful jaws, holding him to herself as they were pushed down the river by the surprisingly gentle current. From what she had understood from her trainer's ramblings over the past day, Viridian City was located somewhere downstream, which meant that they were still on track, albeit in a more unconventional manner. Her trainer had given up trying to fight back against the current, and they were now trying to get closer to the river bank on the left. So far, their attempts had been futile, but at least they were drifting closer to the sides than being dragged down by the rushing water.

"Just a little more," Red gasped, before coughing loudly. "The currents are slower here. We should try again."

"…wile!" Mawile muttered, revaluating her approach to her situation. The last two weeks had been invested in getting to know her trainer and he was as mad as they came, what with his ridiculous obsession towards those large, fire-breathing, winged beasts. He was her ticket to freedom, however, and before the time they spent together, she planned to ditch this human the moment they set out of town.

Now though…

Red might be a tad overzealous for her tastes, but there was no doubt that the human deeply cared for her. From the interactions between him and the other fairy, it was fairly obvious that her trainer was someone who instinctively cared for those he considered his own. Over the time he had spent with her—first at the ranch, and then during their trip, he had always ensured that Mawile got her share of food, rest and other needs even before considering his own. It almost felt… nice. Of course, Mawile knew that as a trainer, Red was supposed to capture pokémon, but that hadn't stopped her from going ahead with her own consumption ritual, every time she saw something edible. She understood that her behavior back with the other human and the fire-lizard was suboptimal; the incident with the avian even less so.

But Red hadn't deserted her. He had stood against that scary specimen of a fearow to protect her, even though Mawile knew that her chances of survival were infinitely greater than his own. She had expected him to order her to attack, and use the diversion to escape. Not wanting to become Red's scapegoat, Mawile had instead sprinted off.

Imagine her surprise when she stopped after a couple of yards, and turned back, only to find Red making a stand to protect her, only to realize that his protectorate had ditched him. It would have been funny if it hadn't been so cruel.

Mawile half-expected Red to run the other way, uncaring of the fact that her short feet weren't optimal for sprinting, and that she'd be preyed upon by the spearow flock. The sad thing was, Mawile couldn't even blame him. After all, she was the one that got them into the mess in the first place.

Instead, Red had run towards her, held her up in his arms, and sprinted off as fast as he could, regardless of the fact that he had the vicious flock chasing behind him. The proper thing to do was to drop Mawile and save his own life, yet instead, Red had chosen the opposite.

He had thrown caution to the wind and leaped straight off the cliff, directly into the fast-flowing river beneath.

It felt odd, to be treated like that. Even back at home, Mawile was a rebel. She was used to fighting against authority. She was used to _not _getting what she wanted. She was used to utilizing deception and charm to get things done her way, which often translated to prioritizing herself over others.

Which was why it was natural that Mawile was caught off-guard on finding a human putting more importance on her life than his own. It felt odd, but a good kind of odd. And Mawile didn't know how to deal with it.

"Are you okay?" Red breathed, one hand holding a firm grasp on Mawile's lithe form while using the other to navigate his way through the currents. It was ironic, since Mawile looked completely safe, albeit wet, while Red looked like he had been through the grinder.

See? This kind of contradictory behavior was exactly what she was talking about.

…_Stupid human trainer._

She nodded her head in acknowledgment. Red might not know this, but Mawile was an expert swimmer. More importantly, she was used to the fast-flowing streams in the icy mountains, where the waters were bitterly cold, and the currents almost cut through skin. If Mawile didn't have to drag her deadweight trainer, who to be honest was doing more to sink them with all his flailing about, she would have gotten out long ago.

The duo slowly drifted towards the riverbank, before Mawile grabbed one of the thicker roots of the Occa berry tree on the bank. A while later and they ended up collapsed on the bank completely drenched in water and exhausted, Red more so than her.

"Heh!" Red laughed awkwardly, rubbing his wet hair with his equally wet hand. "At least our stuff's safe. Thankfully the bag is waterproof." He shook his head wildly in a futile attempt to get rid of the excess water and the—

Mawile arched an eyebrow.

"We should probably head up to the Pokémon Center." Red went on. "I know they provide rooms for trainers, and a warm bed sounds amazing right now. We can get you a quick check-up there as well, just to make sure everything's all right."

Mawile kept staring at Red's head, specifically at the strange object that sat there inconspicuously, at least, as far as her dopey trainer was concerned. That or Red was way too exhausted to even notice the thing attached to his head.

"Uh… is there something on my face? Why are you staring at me like that?"

Yep, definitely dopey. Mawile decided. Taking pity on her trainer, she slowly extended her steel jaws and plucked the object off his head, uncaring that said object pulled out several of Red's hairs causing him to yelp out in pain.

"What are you doing, why did you—?" Red stopped midway, noticing that she had something between her jaws. It seemed like two pieces of darkish purple shell clammed together, with a pale crimson tongue hanging out of it. Mawile deposited the object into Red's hand, who instantly realized what it was he was looking at.

"A shellder." He exclaimed. "This little thing was on my head? Hell, I didn't even notice it." He pulled out the pokédex from his belt, scanning the creature with it.

"**Shellder, the bivalve pokémon. It is encased in a shell that is harder than diamond. Inside, however, it is surprisingly tender."**

Red pressed for more information just like the professor had demonstrated several times for him earlier.

"**Once a shellder latches onto something, its entire body seems to become as light as air, despite maintaining the steel-like strength of the shell. In most cases, the victim doesn't even realize a shellder is biting it. Shellder's tongue secretes an anesthetic that prevents its victim from registering its presence."**

"Well, that explains it," Red muttered, as he stared at the shellder in his hands. "This little guy must have latched onto my hair when we were swimming. I didn't even feel it on my head."

The little guy in question, let out a muffled 'shill', two tiny eyes poking out from the inky darkness within its shell.

"Now what to do with you. Do you want to go back into the river?"

The shellder just stared back at him.

"...or not, perhaps?"

More staring.

"I… suppose I can take you to the Pokémon Center as well." Red finally decided, one of his fingers going dangerously close to the bivalve pokémon. With frightening speed, the shellder latched onto the tip of his ring finger, the two cusps of his shell applying a suction force, literally zipping his finger into the shell.

Red raised his finger in the air, curiously admiring the near weightlessness of it's presence before he tried to pull it off from his finger.

"Strange. I don't even feel it at all." He muttered before going ahead to experiment with it even more. He tried pushing it away, tried pulling it back, and at some point, even Mawile bit into its shell, trying to pull it out.

It was all in vain.

"Okay, Okay, I think we can stop it at that," Red exclaimed warily, seeing Mawile prepare an Iron Head attack. He wasn't sure what it would do to the little water-type, but the force behind the attack could easily shatter a finger bone or two.

Mawile paused midway, and cocked her head to one side, as if in confusion at her trainer's sudden reaction.

"I guess we'll simply take it with us. As a souvenir if nothing else. What do you say? Besides, it's a shellder, right? Their evolutions are rather powerful from what I remember. Let's get to the Center first. We'll find a way to get…" He glanced at the silent water-type again. "—get it off."

Mawile shrugged her shoulders, as if to say '_Whatever'._

* * *

Pokémon Centers were one of the many services that the league maintained for the benefit of traveling trainers. In Kanto, the Indigo League made it a point to install at least one Center in every single city and town as well as in every route that required more than two weeks of travel time. These service points were in effect, a hotel, a medical clinic, and a ration store combined. Lead by a head nurse and several other medics, the Pokémon Centers were provided with advanced and up-to-date medical equipment, enabling them to restore a pokémon from most injuries.

At first sight, the service point appeared quite bland. A triple-storeyed building with whitewashed walls both in and out, and a large pokéball around six feet in diameter on top of the building. There was a larger lush, green, walled area to the left, which was probably the miniature ranch for still-recovering pokémon to relax before their eventual release. He could even see some trainers sitting and interacting with their pokémon.

Mawile pulled at his jeans.

"Yeah, right. Let's move on." Red murmured, walking into the Center.

The insides were pretty much the same as the outside—little to no decoration and bland, whitewashed walls. There was a large helpdesk in the front, with the receptionist—dressed in a nurse uniform with a chansey for companion. It was pretty much the common design for these Centers—a nurse and a chansey, and in some uncommon cases like in Celadon—a wigglytuff, though they were rather rare—standing at the reception, taking in requests for healing pokémon, or directing trainers to the other end of the Center, should they wish to purchase rations and ingredients. Apart from the plain white reception table, there were two cherry blossom plants potted on either side of the entrance.

"Welcome to Viridian City Pokémon Center." The nurse replied in a calm, practiced tone, accompanied by a soft smile. "How may we assist you?"

"Uh well…" He knew that he could acquire certain services from Pokémon Centers, a benefit of being a trainer, but the finer details escaped him. "What do I— Uhm—?"

The nurse smiled softly. "I take it this is your first time visiting a Pokémon Center?"

Red nodded.

"In that case, allow me to get you up to speed in that subject. I presume you have your Trainer ID?"

Red plucked his Pokédex out and placed it on the desk.

"Ah. That will do," The nurse went on animatedly. "You can get a room for up to two days at any of our Centers for a subsidized fee of 200 pokédollars per day. You are also allowed free medical check-ups and treatment for your pokémon, to a certain extent. If your pokémon sustain third-degree injuries or higher, your pokémon will need to be transferred to our local medic unit, at your expense."

"What about food?" Red asked.

"It is included in the price for the room. Even If you are not interested in lodging, you can get the standard meals at the cafeteria for twenty pokédollars. Food for pokémon is free."

"Free?" Red choked. A major issue with catching several pokémon was food. Even though there was no limit on caught pokémon, malnutrition or starvation of captured pokémon was strongly condemned, and subject to a hefty fine and the possible suspension of a trainer's license. This key reason forced trainers to limit their teams to pokémon they could _afford _to feed properly.

"I was told that I could purchase food packs and first aid from the Center," Red continued.

"That is partly correct," The nurse interjected. "Trainers are allowed to purchase rations at low costs from the Centers. However, if you need to purchase restore packs and medicines, you'll need to visit a Departmental store or a Pokémart, depending upon the town or city you are in."

Red blinked at the rather mechanical tone; the woman seemed to prefer. He assumed it was simply a case of repeating the same things over and over from behind the desk for years.

"I… my pokémon need treatment."

The nurse casually glanced at the shellder hanging on Red's left arm. "Does that too count as your pokémon?"

"It's not actually mine. It kind of… latched onto me, while we were being swept down the river," Red admitted sheepishly, before curiously observing the water-type again. "It didn't seem to want to get off, so I kind of carried it here."

The Nurse pressed her lips in slight amusement. "You certainly know how to make an entrance."

Red looked down in embarrassment.

"The Presbyterian river has shown a large increase of shellder in recent months, so this is not the first case of someone coming in with a shellder stuck to their body. I can arrange for it to be returned to the river if you wish?"

"Ummm, no. I was thinking if I could keep it?" He answered unsurely. "It's the first pokémon I have apart from my starter."

"Sentiments," The woman muttered. "They come in all forms." Taking another glance at the bivalve pokémon, she continued. "You should pull its tongue softly. That will release its hold on you without injuring it," She paused. "I'd request you do it after reaching your room."

"Oh, umm, sure," Red wasn't sure what to reply. "Well, thanks for that, and," he looked down at his starter, "Mawile needs treatment."

"…wile?" Mawile demanded accusingly. Her human had better not portray her as some weakling. Sure she had made some mistakes, and very recently as well, but that did not mean that she was out of commission in any shape or form.

"Come on now, we both know that you got a little injured in that fight against Ritchie and swimming in the river must have exhausted you. The nurse will get you to perfect condition in no time."

Mawile arched an eyebrow. So that was what it's about. Instantly her expressions shifted back to her casual charms.

"Maaaaw…" She cooed at the woman. The nurse didn't stand a chance.

"What a cute little pokémon you have." The nurse literally walked out of her desk, and picked Mawile up, suppressing her urge to cuddle it. "She's not from around here, is she? I have never seen anything like her."

Mawile cooed again. Obviously, that did nothing to decrease the potency of her charm.

"Yeah, Mawile's not from around here and—"

The nurse was busy codling Mawile. "Oh, aren't you the cutest? Here have this." She lifted a rather large jar that looked overwhelmingly heavy for someone of her physical stature and took out what looked like a tiny cake of sorts. "These are called poképuffs. Try it."

Mawile hesitated for a moment, before sniffing the little cake. Looking almost intoxicated with its sweet scent, she grabbed the poképuff from her hand before retreating behind Red, almost as if she was afraid it would be taken away. Then she carefully bit into it.

Mawile's face instantly took on a blissful expression. It was _soooo_ yummy! Mawile could nibble on these poképuffs all day, and never get tired of them.

"Hehe!" The nurse laughed. "Do you want another?"

Nod. Another nod. And then another. And never once during the nods, did Mawile lose her sight of the large jar that contained the most delightful delicacies in all the world.

That made the nurse laugh harder.

Red coughed.

"Excuse me?" The nurse asked as if _Red _was the one interrupting a private moment. For all she cared, it might as well be. "Is there anything else you need?"

"—some food and board for the day," Red muttered, in a slightly forced tone.

"Ah, right." The Nurse looked embarrassed. "Sorry, I got side-tracked a bit, you know… ehehehe!"

"Right." Red sighed, just wanting to get it over with.

"Anyway," The nurse glanced at the pokédex from the desk. "I'll need your identification, please."

The trainer pushed his pokédex towards the nurse, who slotted it into her terminal, bringing up his details on the monitor.

"Red Ketchum from Pallet Town. Everything seems proper, though I wasn't expecting a rookie. Aren't you, a little late?"

"Wow. Did you figure that out all by yourself?" Red muttered.

"What?"

"…nothing."

The nurse almost rolled her eyes, before giving him a key. "Room 105, second floor to the left. Second last room on the corridor. Meals will be delivered to your room on time."

"Right, thanks." Red gratefully accepted the key. His expenses would be automatically deducted from the bank account connected to his license and Pokédex, a boon from a near cashless economy. He turned towards Mawile.

"I'm going to put you in your pokéball and give it to the nurse."

Mawile glared at him, before throwing a longing look at the jars. Then she glanced back at Red, and then back at the nurse. Her mind made, she put on her best charms and walked up to the nurse, before rubbing her face against her skirt.

The nurse swooned.

"Mawile…" Red called with some hesitation. 'It is time to return to your pokéball so that the nurse can take you for treatment."

"Oh no, it's okay. I'll just carry her." Mawile made cute noises as the nurse picked her up. Unseen by both Red and the nurse, however, her eyes flickered to the poképuff jar in a decidedly sinister fashion.

Red forwarded Mawile's empty pokéball to the nurse, who placed it on the tray.

"We'll send someone with Mawile's pokéball to your room, even if you are not there. A PC terminal is available in the room for any imports. Please note that usage of the PC terminal comes with extra charges. Have a happy stay, Mr. Ketchum."

Red nodded, before turning around to leave. Remembering something, he paused at his second step and looked back. "About the registration for the gym circuit…"

* * *

If not for the Aiden Mountain Range on the south-western border, Kanto and Johto could have been one great land. Ancient historical sources indicated that Kanto and Johto were two adjacent kingdoms constantly at war. In fact, some four hundred years ago, the House of Cameran of Kanto, and the House of Blackthorne of Johto had been bitter rivals, facing each other at numerous fronts feuding for territory and resources.

This went on for generations until a forced peace was rendered due to the entry of a third party into the war. A certain tribe of draconids from the Meteor Village of Hoenn, who called themselves the Wataru Clan. The Wataru and their army of dragonite had faced off the Blackthorne and their army of haxorus. Unfortunately, the cost of this "peace" had been the massacre of over half the population of both regions. The Blackthorne clan had been forced to flee back to their original homeland in the Nordic Mountains of Unova while close ties developed between the House of Cameran and the Wataru clan.

With the relations thriving, future generations witnessed an amalgamation of the two regions, which ultimately came to be known as the Kanto-Johto mainland. This was emphasized by the fact that both Kanto and Johto were led by a single Champion and Elite Four group. Further, both Kanto and Johto each had exactly eight gyms, thus offering a total of sixteen badges. Any eight badges from the above sixteen was enough to allow a trainer to qualify for both the Indigo Conference of Kanto and the Silver Conference of Johto. While the Indigo Conference was held in mid-August, the Silver Conference took place in early-February, providing two chances for a participant to try his luck at the Leagues. Signing up for the Indigo Circuit made one eligible to try for the Silver circuit as well, and vice versa.

A little after Red had stepped into Room 105, he had his first visitor, a chansey holding a parcel in her tiny hands. The balloon pokémon had handed him the parcel, before cutely bowing and leaving the room. Bemused and curious, Red postponed his initial plans of taking a shower and unfolded the package.

The package contained several pages of official documentation, validated by his ID, which proved that he was registered and qualified to participate in the Gym circuits spanning over the Kanto-Johto mainland. There were also letters of sponsorship from Professor Oak, which indicated that he was registered to a legitimate ranch, and was not engaged in any kind of poaching or illegal activity over the last thirty-six months as well as three sets of maps. The first two of them explored the geography of Kanto and Johto respectively, revealing the most direct and alternative paths between cities, along with the important landmarks and other minutiae while the third map charted out the different gyms in each region and also provided helpful information on the gym leaders.

"Damn, the league doesn't do things by halves, eh?" He muttered, running his free hand through his hair. "This is some pretty serious stuff. It's gonna take me ages to go over all of this. Why don't they teach any of this in school? It would probably be more useful than the endless history lessons."

Taking a marker, he circled the locations that caught his eye. "I have Viridian, Pewter, Cerulean, Vermillion, Saffron, Celadon, Fuchsia and Cinnabar on this end," Red mused to himself, analyzing the map in front of him. "Out of this, Viridian, Saffron, Vermilion and Cinnabar have the lowest success rate." He casually observed that the Viridian and Cinnabar gym had the same value for successful winners over the past year.

Zero.

He mentally shivered at that. "I'm definitely not gunning for Viridian at the moment. Maybe Pewter is a better option." He traced a finger through the map and found that the only route between Viridian and Pewter City was through the famous (or infamous, depending upon the context) Viridian Forest. The alternative was to take a ferry to Cremini Town and then travel along the road to Cerulean city. However, Pewter City had a gym based on the rock-type, and Mawile would hold an advantage against rock-types, courtesy of her steel nature and her control over ice attacks. Cerulean, for the same reasons, would be nothing short of a nightmare for Mawile as she was at the moment.

_Water. Another type that uses its terrain to its advantage._

He glanced at the map again. Viridian Forest was a community of bug and grass-type pokémon, and one of the largest in the world. Chances were high that he'd be able to catch one there.

_Provided Mawile doesn't eat it first._

He shuddered, remembering his experience with the Fearow flock. No, if anything, he needed to train Mawile before they left for the forest. They had been lucky once before. He really didn't want to test his luck a second time.

Speaking of which, he was wondering about Mawile's latest hobby. She had acquired a potted plant, from god knows where and was storing it in his room. This was odd for two reasons- firstly because Mawile had never really showed the slightest interest towards gardening in general. In fact, she hadn't even glanced at Kaz's flower garden. The second was that he had no idea where on earth she had gotten the damned plant in the first place.

And that was not to mention just how dangerously protective she was of her plant. She had even made it clear that she wasn't above snapping at him with her jaws. The first time had been enough to leave an impression in his mind.

That said, it was probably for the best that he let it go for now. Who knew, perhaps this was the same side of her that liked healing other baby pokémon and taking care of them. Besides, it was a good habit, so why bother? Right?

Deserting that line of thought, he glanced down at the map again. He drew a blue line connecting Viridian, Pewter and Cerulean cities, with Viridian Forest and Mt. Moon being intermediary points between them. Both locations were famous for wild pokémon, and if everything went according to plan, securing the first two badges shouldn't be any trouble.

That was the plan, anyway.

He glanced at the third map again, spotting the details about the Viridian City gym.

**Giovanni. Earth Master. Success rate: Abyssal. Open only to Mid-Intermediate trainers and above.**

It was almost ironic that Pallet Town was the only place closest to three of the four top gyms in Kanto, Red mused. Viridian was the closest city to his hometown, with Pallet Forest bridging in between. Cinnabar Island was a direct passage through the ocean, should one take the ferry from Pallet. Vermillion was directly accessible from the west coast, right past Mt. Hideaway. The only one far away was Saffron City, unless he considered paying for psychic transportation.

"Hmmm, enough about that." Red sighed, before lifting his other hand and observing the shellder, who was still attached to his person. "You know," he addressed the silent water-type. "I have no idea what to do with you, little buddy." He gently poked into the utter blackness that was the innards of the shellder's shell, watching it's pale crimson tongue slowly roll out. Remembering the nurse's words, he grabbed its tongue and pulled it softly.

Shellder squeaked, and instantly the valves opened, letting his finger free. The bivalve pokémon dropped down onto the bed beside him and began to make odd, shrill noises.

"So that's the trick to get you off," Red observed. Shellder, much like slowpoke and magikarp, were considered to be the lowlifes of the Pokémon world. The only reason they were bred in large scales was that slowpoke tails were considered a delicacy, and magikarp made for a good meal. To his knowledge, shellder were actively bred by several jewelry brands, owing to their ability to produce pearls inside their valves. As far as fighting potential was considered, however, shellder had none. Period.

That said, there was another side to shellder's story, something that had kept Red from throwing it away into the water from the very start.

He checked in with his Pokédex, and soon enough, he found the requested data.

**Cloyster. The bivalve pokémon. It is the evolved form of shellder. Cloyster are capable of swimming in the sea. They do so by swallowing water, then jetting it out toward the rear. This pokémon shoots spikes from its shell using the same system. The shell is extremely hard. It is almost impossible to break through blunt force. The shell opens only when it is attacking.**

Red checked in into the research entries section, made on Cloyster and added to the Pokédex by other researchers. It was apparently one of the extra features that made the National Dex so sought after by elite-level trainers.

**Shellder can take from decades to centuries to naturally evolve into a cloyster. However, forceful evolution is possible through the usage of a Water Stone. Considering cloyster's potential as a battler, shellder are often captured and evolved into cloyster forcibly. Cloyster are extremely intelligent and forcefully-evolved cloyster tend to be extremely distrustful of their trainers and have contributed to several deaths in the past decades. Synthetically-evolved cloyster are reported to be significantly weaker than naturally evolved ones, although the population of the latter ones are extremely rare.**

"That's… interesting." Red mused aloud, poking at the little guy's shell. "Evolving you earlier may kill me but you can't really fight as you are now. That doesn't sound fair to me." He paused for a moment. "Then again, you are my first capture, and I don't really want to let you go."

Shellder didn't react to his ongoing monologue.

"Damn it." Red cursed softly. "I'm keeping you. I might regret this a few years down the line, but I'm keeping you." He plucked out an empty pokéball and softly pressed the button against its outer layer. The device opened up, and in a burst of red light, the shellder was sucked inside it.

'Ding!'

"Congratulations, Red Ketchum, you've just captured your first pokémon." Red congratulated himself bitterly. "And now, let's get you checked." He scanned his new capture with the Pokédex, and just as expected, new information came flowing in.

**Shellder, the bivalve pokémon. The shell can withstand any attack. However, when it is open, the tender body is exposed. Shellder swims facing backward by opening and closing its shell. It is surprisingly fast.**

More information flooded in.

**This shellder is male. It knows Water gun, Clamp and Withdraw.**

"So it can open and close its shell," Red muttered, cupping his chin with his left palm. "Um, Shellder, I'd like you to use Water gun, though preferably not—"

Shellder let out another shill like sound before it _sneezed._

"—on me." Red finished lamely.

Dozens of water droplets shot out of its valves, smearing Red's face. Mission accomplished, Shellder let out a squeak, before relaxing its shell. The moment it did that, almost half a liter of water came bubbling out of its valves, seeping down to the floor.

"I get fonder of this baby by the second," Red declared sardonically. "Never you mind, we are done and now I'll get back to my shower. Stay there and don't—"

Almost magnetically, Shellder leaped off from its position and affixed itself onto the thickest mop of his hair.

_At least this one has its priorities straight._

He glanced at the dex again.

_A water-type that's confused about when to release pressure for Water gun. Never thought I'd see something like that._

Most water-types, even baby ones, were naturally attuned to the concept of pressure. Water gun, in essence, was the act of drawing enough water, building up the pressure to the necessary amount, and then releasing the water in the desired fashion and direction. From what he could see, Shellder had built the pressure, and let it go, _before_ the necessary water had even begun accumulating within it. As a result, the entire pressure had come out like a sneeze, firing out whatever little water has built up inside its valves.

It didn't feel nice. At all.

As soon as the shellder had relaxed after that, it accumulated the necessary water, and then let it out, without any pressure, through its mouth. So, it wasn't so much as getting the steps wrong but the order.

_Another thing to think about._

"It doesn't matter." He finally declared, addressing the oblivious water-type on his head. "Shellder are definitely capable of basic moves at the very least. It's because of their low learning potential that they are treated like scraps, rejected, or forcefully evolved. Well, that's not going to happen here, little guy. You are on Red's team, which means you earn your keep."

Shellder continued his imitation of a half-decent stalagmite.

"Just you wait." Red pronounced. "I'll have you learn at least one basic attack before we leave Viridian City."

* * *

**Meanwhile in Pallet Town**

"I presume that the evidence supplied should suffice." Samuel Oak spoke with a voice that allowed no argument, as he stared at the League official in front of him. The other man, a somewhat timid blonde-haired fellow in his late thirties, nodded earnestly.

"It will do, sir." The official stood up, "Though I'm somewhat surprised that it was you who filed this complaint. Surely the victim could have sought out justice from one of our Police Squads in Viridian city?"

"The victim in question is my assistant, and he has just started out on his journey." He sighed. "An Alakazam, whom I had sent to look out for the child, witnessed the entire incident. As you will find out, it was forced to intervene to prevent potentially fatal harm to the victim. "

"Ritchie Kent, from Frodomar City." The official surmised. "Standard protocol dictates an immediate suspension Trainer ID, effective until the case is closed, followed by an open testimony in the Police Station of whichever city he is found in. Further punishment is decided depending on how the case is ruled. Given the nature of the offense, and because the victim was not actually injured, punishment could range from a three-month suspension with monetary fines, to putting him in custody, and sending him to court." He paused. "Our department actually acted a little differently this time and sent me to verify it. It's not every day you get contacted by an ex-Champion."

"I do hope that your department will be a little lenient on the boy. From what I understand, he acted in a fit of rage, both at his own defeat and at his pokémon's impairment. While some form of punishment is necessary, I'd request a minimal sentence. Some of his pokémon suffered permanent damage and that is a punishment in itself. To be frank I'd have preferred it if Red had lodged the complaint on his own, but…"

"Either way, I'm glad for it, sir." The official replied. "At the very least, it brought the reclusive Champion Oak back into the political sphere."

"Please don't call me that." The old man waved off. "I am a scientist. And I'm not re-entering the political world, just lodging a complaint. Treat it like a damned complaint, not an announcement for a ministry ball."

He blinked at that. The fifty-year-old man hadn't realized that he had used a cuss-word while dealing with a diplomat.

_Looks like Red had been brushing off on me more than I realized._

"Forgive me, but I cannot help but feel curious about this… trainer. Red Ketchum. Only son of your assistant, and one of the highest scorers in this year's examinations. We had actually thought that your grandson might be the victim, but it turned out to be…"

Personally, Samuel wished the man would grow a backbone and speak freely. Then again, this was a bureaucrat. What else did he expect? They'd bend over to display formality even if it cost them their heads.

"Red is one of my best students, and I know his potential. I'm just looking out for one of my own. That's all."

"Samuel Oak using his own power to enforce justice, and on his own initiative? I'd claim it's more than just someone you care for." The man countered. "Even Champion Lance has taken note of the issue."

Samuel felt an irresistible urge to groan out loud. "I didn't know that the _Champion _keeps track of the Trainer Complaints and Regulations Department."

"He doesn't, but my boss does. Divan thought that someone on the Plateau might be interested, and forwarded it."

"And it reached Lance's office?" Oak asked incredulously.

"Forgive me, sir, but you must understand the situation. Surely from the Plateau told you about Lady Agatha?"

"I… heard about her decision to retire. I thought they'd put Koga in her place should she withdraw from her duties."

"Sir Koga is currently being considered for the newly created Johto Elite Four, along with Sir Will and Lady Claire. The Kanto Elite Four has been stretched far too tight over the past few years. Not to put things indelicately, but the Johto Elite will basically be assistants to the main Elite Four, and responsible for taking over the responsibilities of the Johto region. Even Lady Sabrina will probably be invited for a possible Elite Four trainee in the future, but…"

"Sabrina is too flighty." Oak surmised.

The bureaucrat cringed at the ex-Champion's overtly crude description. "Yes, Lady Sabrina is too… high-spirited, to hold the seat of an Elite. Maybe in the future, if her overall outlook towards things changes a little… regardless, she has made it clear that she has no intention of leaving Saffron city for the considerable future."

Oak nodded.

"If it is not too bold to say, perhaps you might be interested to take up the position of the First?" The man all but whispered. "It is for good reason that even today, people revere Samuel Oak, even without your grand achievements in the field of pokédex technology."

Oak rubbed the apex of his nose. He had no idea how this conversation had morphed from a simple complaint to a bureaucratic proposal for a government position. "No, I have made my position pretty clear. I'll not become the First."

"But sir—"

"I said NO!"

The official wisely kept silent.

Oak sighed. The Elite Four members were in effect, the four pillars that upheld the military government in Kanto and Johto. The Champion usually held his position for a period of five years, before a re-election occurred through a traditional trial by combat, in which the challenger had to defeat the Champion. People like Lance had occupied the position for over 15 years simply by staying unparalleled. Oak had only stepped down because of his own desire to, not because he was defeated. The Elite Four, however, were very different.

Unlike the position of Champion, an Elite Four was someone who kept his title until he voluntarily retired from that position, usually handing it down to a suitable successor said Elite had specifically trained and molded to take his place in the future. Agatha, the oldest of the Elite Four, held her post for over thirty years now. Even though a Champion was the political face of the nation, the Elite Four were the strongholds that kept the entire structure stable. They defended the entire region in times of strife and tended to be even more powerful than the Champions themselves.

For one, only a gym leader could ascend to the position of an Elite Four, with the exception of prior Champions such as Oak. Unlike a Champion who was required to hold a single Champion-tier pokémon, gain approval from the Elite Four, and defeat the current reigning Champion, a gym leader had to attain a Champion-level team of 4 or greater, and display the strength to at least _survive _against a Legendary, to take up the Elite Four position. Lady Agatha had fought against the legendary beast of the north, Suicune, cementing her position in the Elite Four. That said, even amongst the four generals, they held their own ranks. Presently, Agatha had the position of the First, with Bruno, Lorelei, and Karen holding the subsequent positions of Second, Third and Fourth.

"Lady Agatha mentioned that you might not." The official muttered.

"And yet you could not help yourself from trying?" Oak replied sardonically. "For goodness's sake, ask old Blaine. He'd do a fine job."

"Sir Blaine has refused to leave his research for, in his own words, political bullshit."

"And Giovanni will not leave Viridian." Oak sighed.

"That too." The man muttered.

"Tell you what." the ex-Champion groaned, "Be a little lenient on the lad when you deal with him. He might have acted rashly, but I don't want that one mistake to shatter his dreams as a trainer. Do that, and I'll see what I can do about your Elite Four problem."

The official looked at him with a disgruntled expression. "All right, sir. I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Pokémarts were, in general, a shopping mall for all things related to pokémon. Need a full restore a potion or even a general healing paste? Need to check on the latest influx of pokéteches or traveling equipment? Hell, even if you wanted to get yourself a cool T-shirt, you'd likely find it in a pokémart. Besides, with Silph Co. and Devon Corp., the two companies invested in pokéball production being active investors in the Pokémart business model, any new Silph or Devon product would be on the pokémart shelves before it appeared anywhere else in the market. This in part was why the Pokémart held such a large monopoly over the sale of trainer products.

And then, there was the crown jewel to consider, TMs.

TM, an acronym for Technical Machine was a rather new invention that had been patented a little over three decades ago. TM's had become every trainer's top purchase. An electromagnetic canister, in which a particular pokémon's memories could be recorded, by virtue of advanced psychic manipulation of memories. Once done, the instrument could be used to transplant the copied memories into another pokémon. For instance, the move Aqua Jet could be taught to a pokémon that was technically capable of learning it naturally but had yet to do so. The implications of the discovery were nothing short of mind-boggling.

Back in the old days, a charmander needed to work its way through Ember, learning how to slowly coalesce its flames into a singular, more potent version, commonly known as Flame Burst. Further manipulation of the fire element, as well as higher temperature and volume, was necessary to progress into Flamethrower, something that could take months. Acquiring the above was remarkably simple, though it took several months, if not over a year of constant training to reach an adequate level of competency over Flamethrower. More often than not, said charmander would have already evolved into a charmeleon or even its final form, charizard before that happened.

The problems usually began after that.

The next step down the line was Fire Blast. It involved incorporating the tremendous volume of Flamethrower, into an extremely pressured, controlled, potent, and most importantly, a singular congregation of flames, followed by swift and decisive redirection of the attack towards the enemy.

It took years, and at times, decades to master something like that. In fact, Fire Master Blaine actually held the record for having his magmar learn Fire Blast within three years— the fastest for any fire-type in history.

The invention of TMs changed this facet of the pokémon world.

With TMs, it was possible to copy the muscle memory of Fire Blast from a magmar and transfer it into all other magmar that didn't know it. Of course, learning something like Fire Blast has certain prerequisites in terms of energy usage and manipulation, but both Ember and Flamethrower were also sold as TMs and pokémon would usually work their way through the lower ones before they reached the higher ones. The discovery had met with several negative responses by the traditionalist section of the society, who felt that the mass-production of TMs would cheapen the growth and development process as a whole. Despite the tough resistance, the intervention and support of the newly crowned Champion Lance resulted in TMs surviving and becoming an integral part of the Pokémon world.

Over the course of the next five years, the pokémon world was flooded with Technical Machines, copying more and more moves, and making it commercial in the market. By the end of the fourth year after it's release, Silph Co. funded the creation of special counters all over Kanto and Johto, one that allowed experienced trainers that had developed their original moves, to patent and sell. These special TMs were branded as Move Tutors, and were incredibly high-priced, compared to the normal, mass-produced general ones. That said, Move Tutors were moves of extremely high versatility or damage potential, and were only sold to those that had the penny to purchase it.

The industry grew by leaps and bounds, until the next generation of TMs, the second generation Technical Machines were released some fifteen years ago. Before this, TMs created from a magmar's memory could only be transplanted into a magmar. Moves learned by a blastoise could only be transplanted into a blastoise and so on.

The second generation changed everything.

Now, it was possible for a Hydro Pump move, recorded from a blastoise, to be implanted into a poliwrath. It was now possible to transfer a Focus Blast, learned from a machamp, to be transplanted into a hitmonchan.

The pokémon world was never the same. It also brought another revolutionary addition to the world of move-sets. Now, it was possible for a psychic-type, such as a kadabra, to be able to learn and successfully perform Shadow Ball, a ghost-type move. At the same time, it is quite possible for a ghost-type, like the haunter line, to learn psychic attacks like Psychic or Hypnosis. Such freedom of transferring moves amongst the different types increased the diversity of pokémon moves which massively increased the complexity of battles.

Of course, it was still far from perfect. For instance, it was almost impossible, for say a charizard, to learn something like Water Gun, or for a blastoise to learn Flamethrower. That was why, researchers at Silph Co. and Devon Corp. were presently studying the physiology of the dragon and the fairy-types, the former because of its versatility and affinity towards all elemental typings and the later due to its affinity with the ghost and psychic typings.

Nowadays, all trainers used TMs to accelerate their pokémons growth. And Red was no exception.

Red stood in front of the rows of shelves, trying to keep himself from salivating like a thirsty dog. In front of him were the latest section of TMs, and more importantly, rows of Move Tutors. His fingers twitched as he regarded the item sitting right in front of him, as if taunting him.

**MOVE TUTOR: STEALTH ROCK. OWNER: BROCK PEBBLEMAN.**

How exactly was he supposed to keep his mind calm, walk through these endless rows of powerful moves_, _and be content with the single choice he could afford?

_Never thought I'd curse myself for my stubbornness. Here I could probably buy it all if not for…_

He sighed. When he had started out on his journey, Delia had transferred a total of eight thousand pokédollars to his account and opened an extra credit line of fifty thousand— regardless of his refusal—so that he might be able to take care of himself first without any worries. But with the way he had grown up, Red had developed an independent streak that kept him from depending upon his mother for anything.

_Especially since I'm ignoring her suggestions._

Suppressing his urges, he calmly walked to the counter at the end, ignoring the part of his mind that wanted to rob the pokémart then and there. He idly noticed the section near the door, the one that held items under the banner '_Standard TMs for trainers. Special discount on choice products!'_

Finally done with browsing, he picked out a single cylindrical contraption with the words **THUNDER WAVE** printed over it in large, bold letters. He paused for a moment, before his gaze shifted to the **DOUBLE TEAM** section, and after another few seconds, he pulled out two of those as well. Double Team, being a beginner-level evasion technique, was one of the cheapest TMs in the market, and often sold at high discounts when purchased in bulk. Without further delay, he walked up with three canisters, and stood in front of the main check-in counter, looking slightly peaky at having to walk away from the treasures behind him.

"Yes?" The receptionist asked.

"One Stealth— I mean, one Thunder Wave, and two Double Team Standards, please." He placed the three canisters on the desk and took out his pokédex in advance.

"May I see your ID please?"

Red forwarded the pokédex to her. The receptionist, a woman in her late forties, smiled and inserted the pokédex into one of the slots, the electronic transaction process completing successfully. A tiny strand of paper slowly printed out from the printer on the table. The receptionist tore it off, and handed it to Red, along with his pokédex. "Thank you for visiting Viridian Pokémart. Please visit the counter on your way downstairs to the right. You can get the TMs inculcated there."

Red nodded, and took up the three contraptions, stuffing his Pokédex back into his belt pocket. It was time to visit the Counter on the ground floor.

_Soon, _he told himself. Soon Mawile would have an ace up her sleeve, and the next time she faced an avian, it would turn out very, very differently.

* * *

"So, guys, do you feel… any different?"

Mawile cocked her head to the left with a quizzical expression. Shellder did a remarkable imitation of a fallen pebble.

Red sweatdropped. He had heard of TMs not working because of their incompatibility with the recipient or the recipient's lack of power or other weird esoteric requirements. He dearly hoped that wasn't the case here.

"Okay, let's try this the other way." He calmed himself, taking a deep breath. "Mawile, do you remember that move used by the taillow? Double Team?"

Mawile nodded. Of course, she remembered the avian perform it. Come to think of it, it wasn't as spectacular as it had appeared back then. It barely required any psychic energy to create illusory images of oneself. Maintaining them after projection was slightly difficult, while in motion, but a slightly greater investment of psychic energy allowed a greater level of connection between the host-mind and the illusions. As a fairy-type herself, she had more than enough ability to overshadow the bare modicum of talent displaced by that good-for-nothing avian. All she had to do was infuse her psychic energy—

Wait. How did she know all that?

Mawile cocked her head again. No, it was no fluke. She _knew _how to perform Double Team. Not just that, it was almost like she had performed it earlier, despite having never performed it earlier. What sorcery was this?

"Mawile?" Red repeated, his voice a little wary. "Can you perform Double Team?"

Mawile considered mentioning the strange anomaly she was going through to her trainer. Then, she briefly reminded herself that her trainer, despite being quite intelligent by human standards, was _human. _He didn't understand the pokémon-tongue.

With a long-suffering sigh, she nodded again. Closing her eyes for an instant, she allowed her innate fairy energy to invade her— she could feel it invade into her every cell, every tissue as if innately scanning everything that made her Mawile. She could feel her power flare out a little, not dissimilar to how she used Icy Wind, but much tamer in comparison. She felt herself generating psychic energy, silently wondering how she had learned to use it like that in the first place, and if she'd retain this knowledge or not. She felt her energies slowly diffuse out of her, while her own awareness expanded, as if her view was now magnified several times over. It felt like she was standing in her original position, and yet, she was in several other places, though only momentarily.

It was… confusing.

Mawile felt her body finally gain a definite control over her psychic energy. Yes, the constant shifts in awareness were now getting slower and more focussed by the second. She could feel that she'd be able to create illusions just like the taillow had done, and in greater number than it too. She would—

"Whoa, that's so amazing! Four illusions so fast? Do it again, Shellder!"

Wait, _WHAT?_

Mawile blanched, her expression perturbed. Right beside her, was the strange little mute creature. Only, instead of a singular entity, there were four illusory forms of itself around it. The stupid little thing was trying to lick and clamp its shell over the illusions, and even then, the illusions did not seem to waver.

Was there no end to her sufferings?

"Come on, Mawile! I know you can do it. See even Shellder is doing it. Try again." Red cheered her.

Mawile rolled her eyes. Of course, she could do it. Who did Red think she was? This mute, little, water-type could probably create a maximum of four illusions anyway. It was always better to know one's limits after all. She wondered if she should snicker at Shellder's incompetence, but then decided to display her magnanimity. There was no grandeur in establishing dominion over the ones already proven weak after all.

"Mawile?"

And just like that, her eyes were shut once again. It had nothing to do with the fact that Red might be feeling that she was having problems with it.

Mawile felt the psychic energy reform just as easily as the first time, and with a deep sigh, let it out. Her awareness flickered for a second, before they stabilized.

She opened her eyes.

There was an illusion to her left. Another one to her right. The two illusions in front of her looked a little shaky, but they held.

Mawile's eye twitched.

"Whoa, four illusions on your first try. That's just as many as Shellder did. Well done, Mawile!"

"..."

"...wile!"

She gave a feeble yelp, that her trainer thought was a cry of victory. Practice, she decided. She would get this move down until the silly little shell couldn't even count the number of illusions she made. Which, Mawile reflected, was probably not very much anyhow.

* * *

"Mr. Kent?"

…

"Mr. Ritchie Kent!"

"...whaddaya—"

"Mr. Ritchie Kent, you are currently in the medical wing. Please wake up! It is about your pokémon."

That broke all remnants of sleep from the Frodomar City trainer. He squinted as he tried to reorient himself, tiredness vivid in his expression, before he unceremoniously picked himself up from the bench, almost slipping over his half-open boots. Gathering himself, he dusted imaginary lint from his trousers. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

The nurse pursed her lips slightly "It is about your pokémon. The medic wishes to talk to you about them."

"Are they—" Ritchie felt his throat go dry. "Are they going to be alright?"

"I… I really couldn't say." The Nurse responded. Dr. Pym is the one in charge of that particular ward, and I am on reception duty this week. You'll have to ask him."

Right. Dr. Pym. The medic he had talked to the previous night, before falling asleep while waiting on the bench. For a town associated with the famous Samuel Oak, the Pallet Town Clinic was a rather small one, with limited services to trainers. Back in Frodomar, he could have easily gotten a room and board at the hospital premises itself. This… boony didn't even have a proper Pokémon Center, and most injured pokémon were sent to Oak's coral for treatment. He had been in a hurry and did not have the mental fortitude to hang on till he reached the general hospital, not when he had found a clinic near the entrance of the town.

Pallet Town PokéCare.

Thoughts about his present location gave in to thoughts about his prior experience with the trainer from Pallet. Red Ketchup or something, the name was— it didn't matter. _Red— _he would remember that part. Remember the trainer who had inflicted a crushing and humiliating defeat on his person, on his experience, on his team and their dedication. The trainer with that ruthless, immoral, deceptively cruel creature he called a starter.

_Mawile._

"Someday I will encounter him again, and that time, it will be the end for that mawile. I'll see to it." He muttered under his breath.

The nurse shuddered at his ominous tone, though she couldn't really decipher the words used. She fell into steps with the Frodomar City trainer with the injured team. Truth be told, she had yet to see a pokémon with that degree of mutilation in her years as an upcoming medic. Pallet Forest, after all, was a remarkably safe place compared to the wilderness of Viridian Forest and the like. The fact that this trainer had come in barging with his nearly-dying pokémon, and mentioned something about an encounter in Pallet Forest did not seem auspicious to her ears.

"This way." She indicated, turning to the right. "Dr. Pym is in his office. Please follow me."

The trainer quickly followed the nurse as she stepped into a brightly-lit room that looked like a cross between a laboratory and an operation theatre, with a chair and desk on one end. Behind the dozen books on the table, and a magnifying glass of all things was a bespectacled man immersed something closely reminiscent of a lab manual.

"Uhm…" Ritchie cleared his throat. Fortunately, that seemed to do the trick.

The man looked up from his desk, his blue eyes sparking of raw intelligence. The Nurse flinched imperceptibly as she met the man's eyes. "Ah," He registered the new presence in his office. He got off his chair, pushing it back as he walked out. "Mr. Ritchie, I imagine. Would you care for a cup of coffee?"

"How's— how're my pokémon?" Ritchie demanded.

"To the point then." The medic sighed. "Well, it is precisely for that reason why I suggested a cup of coffee. We need to have a discussion over how your pokémon happened to get… mutilated to such a level, and what are the questions that you are likely to be put through by the police when they get here."

Ritchie felt his mouth go dry. "Police?" He croaked.

The medic arched an eyebrow. "Mr. Kent, your pikachu's tail is severely mutilated. Three nerves from its tail along with a significant portion of its flesh has been completely torn apart, causing severe damage. As it is right now, your pikachu will likely never be able to use its tail for any attack whatsoever."

Ritchie felt a sudden feeling of vertigo overwhelm him. Sparky would never be able to use its tail? What about its training on Iron Tail? Would that be lost forever? What about its habit of hanging around his shoulder with his tail holding it steady? What about—?

"Mr. Kent."

"Uhm, sorry," Ritchie shook his head, ignoring the tears trying to overwhelm him. "You were saying?"

The medic felt sorry for the young man in front of him. For a pikachu, losing its tail was practically having a serious handicap for the rest of its natural life. "Not only is its sense of balance ruined, damage to the nerves in a pikachu's tail can permanently cripple the pokémon. If I may offer a suggestion, you should try evolving your pikachu into raichu using a Thunder Stone. It is quite possible that the evolutionary process might heal it significantly. Besides, it would also somewhat… recover from the damage done to one of its pouches."

Ritchie felt a growing urge to find a certain trainer and pummel him to death.

"Mr. Kent."

"...Yeah?"

"Did you listen to what I just said? You need to come to a decision. Using a Thunder Stone to evolve it now could significantly help your pikachu. The more you wait, the more its… injuries would become permanent. In fact, I'd suggest performing the evolution by today itself, if possible. The medication can delay the inevitable for only so long."

"I… But a Thunder Stone? How am I supposed to even find one? Those are only available at pokémarts, and need to be ordered beforehand to get one." Ritchie cursed.

"Well, not to sound too forward, but I do have a connection that might be able to get you a Thunder Stone, for the right price." The medic replied cautiously. From his words, it was obvious that said _connection _was not exactly legal, but Ritchie didn't exactly have the time to go through the legal procedure.

"How much?" He croaked. "How much is it going to cost?"

"Around… Sixteen thousand pokédollars. And you might have to pay a little more, for speed and discretion."

"Sixteen… thousand?" Ritchie paled at the figure.

"There's also the costs for your other pokémon's treatment to consider."

Ritchie took a step back in horror.

"Surely it would not matter, would it?" The medic asked. "This is clearly a criminal case, and the police will want to take a statement. It should be child's play to get the offender to pay for your pokémon's treatment. As a trainer, you should be knowledgeable about the norms, correct?"

"...correct." Ritchie gulped. Come to think of it, it had been an unofficial battle, so it wasn't likely to be registered in the database. Also, there had been no witnesses to their battle, so it was likely that they'd believe the word of a league-registered trainer over some nobody from the boonies. And knowing that little monster, it was unlikely that this was the first time it had resorted to such gruesome violence.

_But what if he's… he's someone from a well-known family here? Obviously they'd believe his word over mine._

"I… I would prefer not to bring this matter to the police. It was just another trainer and I-I don't know his name or anything— and it was a dark and everything and—"

The medic looked at him like he had just failed to answer and exceedingly simple question. "You claim that these injuries were done by some unknown perpetrator, who took advantage of the dark and caused all of this?" He lifted the reports of his three patients. "Your taillow has a comminuted fracture on its bone, as well as three broken bones on its back. Your charmander," he made an odd sound from his throat, "has several spiral fractures on his tail and a total of eight contusions all over its body. There are clear indications of gnawing on its tail, several times over, something that I can associate with the Vice Grip attack, as well as three broken ribs. It is almost a surprise that it isn't dead by now."

"I… I…." Ritchie gripped the hairs on his head tightly, stepping back against the wall, and slowly crouching down towards the ground. "I cannot… It is not my fault but I cannot…"

"I assume that this is a rather… personal matter, Mr. Kent. Nurse, if you please?" The medic arched an eyebrow, at which the nurse nodded briskly before walking out. "Mr. Kent, would I be correct in believing that you were not the person that caused this level of mutilation to your team?"

Ritchie glanced up, fear vivid in his features. "No, I didn't, I wouldn't. They are my team. Sparky's my starter."

The medic ignored the odd name, and went on. "Then what is it that stops you from naming the exact reason behind that caused all this?"

"I…" Ritchie felt like his head was going to burst. Unable to restrain himself, he bawled out "It wasn't my fault alright? I challenged this unregistered rookie trainer— Red something, with a strange creature he called a mawile. Non-native."

Dr. Pym nodded.

"I… He got me angry and I challenged him to a battle, and that monster did this to Zippo— my charmander."

The medic cast a second glance at the reports on his desk. "I cannot see how that might stop you from reporting it to the police. Lethal attacks such as this are frowned upon, as you might know and—"

"That's not the point." Ritchie snapped.

"Alright," the medic kept his calm. "Please arrive at the point."

"He was a rookie trainer all right?" Ritchie half-yelled. "I challenged a rookie trainer to a 1-on-1 battle, and that rookie trainer did this to my Zippo. I got… I got mad at what happened, and I ordered my team to attack his mawile. It attacked him too!"

"I presume the pikachu was the one, considering his—"

Ritchie shook his head. "All of them."

"..."

"..."

"I need a cigarette." The medic sighed, before opening a drawer beneath the table and taking out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one, he drew it on, and let out a long puff of smoke. "Let me get this straight. You challenged an unregistered trainer to a battle, breaking at least two laws of the Trainer Legislation Accord, and then, after getting defeated, ordered the rest of your team to attack his pokémon. Not only that, but it attacked the actual trainer himself?

Ritchie did not move. Or speak whatsoever.

"Did this trainer get injured?"

…

"Mr. Kent!" The medic barked.

"No." Ritchie blurted. "I didn't think— I just— Can't you see what it did to my Zippo?"

"I can see it, yes." The medic replied. "It is also extremely unnatural that a trainer might have access to a pokémon powerful enough to defeat a charmander, pikachu and a taillow in tandem. I know of this pokémon you speak off, a mawile_, _and while they are deceptive little things, they are not of the threat level you speak of. Even if what you say is true, Mr. Kent, I'm afraid the law will support the other trainer, should he be brought in court. Where was this trainer from?"

"..." Ritchie muttered.

The medic felt his phone vibrate for a moment, as he checked the new notification with a long sigh. "A little louder, please? My ears are failing me in old age."

"Pallet Town. Here. Damn it. From here."

"Pallet Town." The medic closed his eyes. As a healer, it was his duty to keep copies of records from the Trainer Examinations-details of trainers, family history and any genetic diseases in the family line. However, there was another thing that separated the trainers here from the rest of the world.

**Sponsorship: Professor Samuel Oak.**

"It is rather unfortunate, and I cannot believe that I'm saying this, but you really do not have a chance at this. Even if you name the trainer responsible, he can use his position as an unregistered trainer, and point fingers at you. After all, you are the league-registered trainer with a team of six, and two badges to count. Of course, that is not counting the fact that we are assuming that this trainer did nothing after encountering you."

"What do you mean?" Ritchie asked, his throat now completely dry.

"Our machines got a new notification from the league servers about your Trainer ID. Before you ask how, I should remind you that it is from the pokédex that you submitted when you admitted your team to the hospital. It seems like there has been a new complaint registered by Professor Samuel Oak, to the Indigo League, reporting a certain Ritchie Kent from Frodomar City, Trainer ID ABSP2043RK." He read out from the notification on his cell phone. "Your Trainer ID has been temporarily suspended and you are required to submit yourself to any official Police Station, and testify in open court against what is classified as legal evidence."

"You mean?"

"Memories, ones cleared by a psychic. Either there has been a third witness, or, this trainer has indeed taken action against you. A pitiable condition really, considering your charmander and your pikachu. Not to mention your taillow and—"

"Please." Ritchie looked up at him in despair "Help me."

Dr. Pym smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	4. Act 1 - Immolation | Chapter 4 - Trainer Square

Viridian City, despite all its grandeur, was fairly isolated in terms of location. With the Viridian Forest directly above it and Pallet Forest gating it from further south-east, Viridian City had three major entry points. The first was usually through Pallet Town, which paved the southern entrance into the city's gates. The second was by ship on the western coast, an option that was discouraged because of the acute Carvanha population in the waters. The third was usually through Viridian Forest, though the chances for that were fairly low, considering Pewter City's own geographical position and the great Viridian Forest. A fourth option existed, which was through sustained flight using a flying-type, or through a psychic-based teleportation service from another city.

Even so, it did not present a challenge to the city's potential as a prospective tourist spot. The Equestrian Grounds were a source of adult entertainment and crowded with prospective players who wanted to bet on the rapidash races, while others came in for the thrill of riding in general. The casinos were just as popular, as was the Viridian Institute of Sciences— a regular visit for most students engaged in research. However, no place gathered more attention than the Trainer Square— one of Kanto's largest private battlegrounds.

Not only did it provided a state-of-the-art battle arena but it also gave complimentary first aid allowing continuous battles against their peers without much risk of permanent injury. Here, a trainer could challenge others of his skill level, over a standard sum of money which varied based on the skill level of the trainers. That being said, Trainer Square wasn't run as a charity. Other than the viewing charges levied to the spectators, ten percent of a trainer's profits were to be paid to the institution as commission for its services. More than this, the faculty was essentially a betting ground for the affluent where ludicrous sums of money changed hands every day. While it had essentially started as watching a sport, pokémon betting had essentially become a favored pastime for the rich. Having a sponsored trainer reach the elite-level had essentially become a status symbol and therefore several young trainers flocked to Trainers Square hoping to attract a wealthy sponsor with their potential.

Even if you weren't looking for a patron, the Square was still attractive as the facility literally took away the problems associated with finding trainers in the wild and having to wrangle money from them. Furthermore, the institute offered a degree of protection through the separation of trainers by their trainer rankings which made it impossible for experienced trainers to take undue advantage from rookies.

Like any other teen from Pallet, visiting this place was like a dream come true for him. They'd hear tales from older trainers about people going in, and coming out filthy rich. There were also stories of rich twats arriving in fancy cars, only to sell those cars to pay off all the debt they owed after losing to those with actual skill. In fact, there were several trainers who chose to make the Trainer Square their permanent source of income, instead of trying their luck at the League Conferences. So, it was natural that Red's mind and feet came to a screeching halt when he reached the outer gates of his destination.

_Is this… really the right place?_

The entire edifice was surprisingly small compared to what Viridian City boasted. It was only slightly bigger than the average two-story restaurant at best. For one moment, Red wondered if he had arrived at the correct destination, but the words **TRAINER SQUARE** sprawled all over the frontage in large, capital neon signs, wiped away his doubts.

Mawile pulled at his jeans.

"What is it, Mawile?" He asked absently, staring at the building in front of him, still somewhat confused at the contrast between expectation and reality. He had expected it to be much grander, much livelier, not this undersized mall.

Mawile pulled again.

"All right, all right." He consented. "What's got you so worked up?"

Mawile pulled again.

Red sighed. "I'm going, I'm going. You're supposed to be a deceiver and a hunter. Shouldn't you have a little more patience?" Before Mawile could show him exactly what she thought about his statement, he walked up ahead, causing Mawile to quickly follow behind.

"Look at this place, Mawile," Red muttered, more to himself than to others. "Well, assuming this the correct place, this is what has made the lives of so many trainers out there. The better the trainer you are, the more your wins, and the better your 'street-cred'." He carefully ignored the traitorous part of his mind that whispered about how those stories might well have been fake to begin with.

Mawile tilted her head at the last part, confusion filling her face.

"Um, you become more popular."

The expression deepened. Popular wasn't a word found in the language of pokémon. For one, the wild world had predators and prey. The idea of something being popular and yet, not prey, seemed alien to the deceiver pokémon. Why would she be interested in someone, if she couldn't eat it?

"Ugh, now how do I—? Put it this way, the more popular you are, the more money you can make, and that means more poképuffs."

Mawile blinked. Okay, that made sense. Seriously, what was it with humans and making things so overly-complicated? Couldn't he just say that winning more battles meant more poképuffs? It would have been so simpler.

She shook her head in slight exasperation. Being a human-tamer was difficult. They didn't understand pokémon, were somewhat dull to begin with, and to add to that, they had this tendency to overcomplicate even the simplest of things. Whoever said being a trained pokémon was easy business again?

"But I only have you to battle for me. So, do you feel like you are ready to go defeat the ones in there?"

Mawile shrugged. So far, she had stood her ground against most pokémon out there. Considering that she was still in one piece, it probably meant her chances were pretty high. Besides, it was all in the name of poképuffs. Maybe Red would even get his chance at being popular.

Past the outer gates, there were three windows to fetch tickets to go in, all for a minimal price of twenty pokédollars. With a majority of his money spent on TMs, and rations, Red had little more than three thousand to carry on. This meant that he'd have to either battle a trainer (and win) to get more money or use his emergency credit, something that would obviously not be a happy thought. He knew for a fact that Gary started out with roughly seventy thousand in his account, not to mention the near-limitless credit line he had for backing.

The bottom line was that he'd need to win his first few matches, to actually walk out a winner. Both in name and fortune.

He stood in front of the second window, and passed in a hundred dollar note. "One ticket, please."

"Trainer ID?" The man on the other side looked in his late forties, and wore a cowboy hat, tilted to the left, doing very little to hide his bald head.

"AVSPN810H" Red answered, "Red Ketchum from Pallet Town."

"So, it seems," the man replied in a gruff tone. "Newly registered rookie. No badges. Even babies want to be taken seriously these days." He guffawed.

Red frowned, but did not react any further. With a stiff nod, he accepted the electronically printed ticket that the man passed back to him.

"Arena 3. You'll probably find someone of your size over there. "He paused momentarily, "If you lose everything, don't make a scene. We want the tourists to think good of us."

Red glanced down at Mawile again. "Let's go."

Mawile cooed in return and quickly fell in steps with him.

* * *

The first thing Red witnessed on walking into the Trainer Square were three enormous, metallic squares, giving him the feeling like he was standing in some airship hangar. Each square was at least a hundred feet in height, and had a single squarish door at the base, giving out the impression of being an elevator. They were further adorned with a large neon sign, with **ARENA** engraved on it, along with a number. Remembering that he was supposed to go to the third one, Red and Mawile walked up to the appropriate square and walked in. The door closed with a soft ding, but instead of the familiar pull of gravity that came with going up on an elevator, he felt nothing. A few moments later, the door reopened, leading to….

_This is… impossible._

He was almost in a different world. In front of him was what seemed like endless terrain, infused with technology and filled with people. There were large cubicles on either side of the main roadway, each having a battle arena of over a hundred square yards, and two podiums on opposite ends for the trainers to stand on. Each battleground was enveloped by some form of nigh transparent, psychic bounded fields, keeping the battles held within private, while still allowing the public to witness them. The sheer immensity of the entire structure made no sense, considering the initial size of the metallic squares, and the building in the first place unless…

_Is this… Am I in folded space?_

Folded space technology could be regarded as the new cornerstone of the pokémon world. Ever since its humble beginnings some eighty years ago, the concept of folded space had changed the world into a less dangerous and more civilized place, especially when compared to the situation before it. In fact, before the advent of the pokéball, the world was far more barbaric, and the occupation of a pokémon trainer was something that would only suit an adrenaline junkie. In fact, it wouldn't be wrong to say that a hundred years back, pokémon matches were nothing short of deathmatches. Trainers were strong humans, who showered coins of gold and silver to get their pokémon-their gladiators well fed, well trained, and then forced into mortal combat. It was good business back then, and it fetched trainers a great deal of cash as well. This was well reflected within modern culture, only far more refined.

Today's trainers took folded space technology for granted. A tiny pokéball, barely fifty grams in weight, could hold enough space to host a seven-foot-tall machamp with ease. For creatures greater than ten feet in length, a trainer needed to purchase a greatball, which was three times as expensive as a regular pokéball and could host pokémon up to twenty-five feet in height. The modern generation did not need to treat their pokémon like the dangerous creatures that they were. They did not need to keep the monsters chained and bound. They did not need to employ crude collars or employ painful shocks to ensure that the brutes followed their every command. Today's trainers trained and loved their team like pets, and in some cases, their babies. Poképhilia was on a growing rise.

Folded space technology had changed everything, and had become an irreversible part of the pokémon world. A trainer's backpack could hold a volume comparable to a small water tank, divided into several compartments that enabled him to stay out in the wild for months. Weight Reduction Technology prevented these backpacks from weighing more than a couple hundred grams at most. It was so common, that this technology was often taken for granted. But constructing an entire battle facility within solded space? That was enough to unsettle most people, including Red.

"An area so huge, inside folded space?" Red muttered to himself.

"It boggles the mind, doesn't it? But that is the grandeur of Trainer Square." A male voice interrupted his musings. Turning to his left, Red was met with a tall, lanky guy, easily six-feet tall, around seventeen years old by the looks of it, with trimmed, chestnut hair.

The teen continued. "It's always like that for the first-timers." He chuckled.

"It is my first time," Red admitted. "They told me to go to ARENA 3."

"A Rookie then." The teen replied. "I'm Cory, by the way. Nice to meetcha! How many badges do ya have?"

"Red." He replied, "I don't have any yet."

"A squirt." Cory laughed. "Heh, that's the word for badge-less people around here. I'm sure I saw a couple more around here somewhere. So kid, that cutie's yours, I presume?"

Mawile growled angrily, apparently feeling like she was being looked down at. Unfortunately, her growl came out as an adorable mewl.

"Ah, a real charmer," Cory laughed. "So, Red was it? Lookin' for a battle? The standard bet is five hundred bucks. Wanna try your luck?"

Red blinked twice. "Why do you care?"

That took Cory aback, who answered with a bark. "I work for the Square, squirt. It's my job to ensure that we have more battles. The more money the Square gets, the more commission for me. That reminds me, what's your ID?"

Without hesitation, Red filled him with the details. Cory entered them in what seemed like a thin card-like device silently. "Red Ketchum, Rookie. All right, you're set. Here's your Battle Card. Don't lose it." He handed over the card to him.

"Battle Card?" Red questioned, staring at the thin plate-like device in his hand. He wanted to ask what it did but felt that Cory would answer it anyway.

"Yup. It tracks every match you've had at the Trainer Square. You've got no badges so we don't know what skill level you're at. Not that some of those one or two badgers are any better, ay?"

Red shrugged. He didn't want to comment, but his recent experience with Ritchie who claimed to have 3 badges, didn't give him the highest opinion of the badge system.

"You also get Battle Points."

"Huh?"

"Battle Points," Corry continued, with the air of someone who had explained this several times, "are awarded by the Trainer Square on victories. The number awarded depends on the profile of the match. Think of them as an incentive to battle in Trainer Square. You can redeem them for exciting prizes like TMs and even pokémon, once you've collected enough!"

"You sound like a creepy old guy trying to trick children with candy." Red deadpanned, "So Trainer Square does this out of the goodness of their hearts?"

"As if," Corry gave a little bark of laughter. "Lem'me tell you a secret, squirt. Nothing in life is ever free. We get lots of bets on high profile matches. Makes us tons of cash. Trainer Points are a way of encouragement, so to say. Win continuous streaks and give us exciting battles. We'll treat ya well enough."

Red stared at him contemplatively. It did seem like a win-win situation. After all, trainers benefited massively from the Square as well.

"So, how many pokémon do you have?"

"Just one." Red tilted his head towards Mawile. Technically, he had Shellder in his team, but it didn't count for obvious reasons.

"That cute little thing? You sure you wanna force it through the grinder? Things can get bitter over here." The boy advised.

Mawile growled again, her large jaw biting into the air with a snap. Just what did this fellow think she was?

"Feisty little thing, aren't ya?" Cory chuckled. "Well, enough dallying around. Let's see what you make of Neesha over there."

Red looked in the direction Cory's hands were pointing. It was the fourth cubicle on the left. Even from a distance, he could see the brown-hair curled into twin-tails, fighting against another brown-haired boy, whose face was hidden from him.

"Neesha?"

"She's another rookie like you. Cute little lass, though she's as stubborn as a tauros, I tell you. Lost all her money the first day, and then kept coming back for more. Says she's gonna keep coming until she's won thrice her money back."

"How much has she won yet?" Red asked, completely out of plain curiosity.

"Still scratching three's surface. She lost all seven thousand the first day. It was horrible ya know? But that's Neesha for you."

Interesting. "Five hundred is the standard, right?"

"Yep. And ten percent of your winnings— yours or hers, go to the Square. So not to worry, win or lose, my winning personality and aid is free." He gave a cheeky smile, causing Red to chuckle.

"Let's get started."

* * *

"Let me get this straight. You are a rookie. You got yourself registered for the Indigo Circuit yesterday. You have a single pokémon." Neesha noted. "Are you sure you're in the right place?"

Red arched an eyebrow.

"Hello Pot, this is Kettle. Did you know that I'm black?" Cory interjected from the side-lines, smirking as he casually leaned against the wall.

"I'm not being hypocritical, here." Neesha clarified, rolling her eyes. "I was an idiot when I first came in, but even then, I had two pokémon with me. And you know that I'm not going to go get my badges until I win my money back."

"Three times over." Cory supplied.

"Yes."

"One on one, will that do?" Red asked. "I only have Mawile with me now. Five hundred, that's the bet, right?"

Neesha blinked. "You wanna lose your money that badly?"

"Pot, Kettle." Cory sang.

"Let's just start." Red offered.

"Whatever. Raticate, end this quickly." Neesha sighed, releasing the pokéball in her hands. Red light burst out of the pokéball, releasing the pokémon within. It was not exactly clear how pokéballs captured pokémon within them and released them back without any form of physiological changes to their form. There was a rather nefarious rumor about pokéballs using alien technology to forcefully convert pokémon into mysterious, red-colored poké-energy, and sucked them into the device, before keeping them in some form of suspended animation. Another rumor talked about how pokéballs had some form of restraining abilities, that allowed a trainer to tame wild pokémon captured by these spheres. Whatever the real technology might have been, it was viciously guarded by Silph Co. and Devon Corp. After all, this was the very same technology that allowed them to become corporate giants, crushing all the competition in the process.

The pokémon leaped out of the pokéball, before hitting the ground with its forelimbs, allowing its thin tail to sweep across the ground sweeping dust into the air around it. It then sniffed the air around it, its large frontal-fangs gnawing into each other, as the creature regarded Red and his partner.

"Mawile, you're up," Red muttered softly. "Show 'em what you've got."

Mawile deliberately ignored the other girl's presence, only staring at the raticate in front of her, as she stepped into the arena, her large jaw deceptively motionless and withdrawn. If Red were anybody else, he'd have thought the large, black protrusion to be some kind of body ornament at best.

"Quick attack and use Bite," Neesha ordered.

Raticate let out a war cry of sorts, before sniffing the air a second time, as it raised its hindlimbs slightly, before shooting towards Mawile, its fangs bared. Mawile, who had obviously expected it to launch a direct, frontal attack, tensed slightly and pushed her jaw backward, poised and ready to sweep at a moment's notice.

It ranged within ten inches of Mawile before it leaped into the air, its fangs poised to strike.

Mawile smirked, and flipped its jaw to the front, raising a barrier of impregnable steel. Raticate slammed its fangs against the jaw, bone against steel, and was repulsed back with a powerful reactionary force. With its natural agility, it easily weaved its way mid-air to fall in line with the momentum, allowing it to land deftly with little to no damage.

"A steel jaw," Neesha observed. "Good reaction time. But can it handle it if Raticate ups his speed?" She smirked. "Quick Attack, then use Hyper Fang."

Hyper Fang? Red wondered, as his tranquil expression shattered. He was never good at dealing with sudden surprises. He preferred having information before the fight, and analyze an opponent first before he battled him, compared to rushing blindly to face the opponent and _winging _it mid-battle. It was one of the reasons why he had spent an inordinate amount of time studying the standard moves used by most pokémon out there. Then again, considering the vast array of moves, having to face an unknown should almost be a run-of-the-mill event.

"Mawile, be wary of it."

"Wile!" The deceiver pokémon took a poised stance, ready to wave its jaw.

Raticate let out another cry, before leaping towards the fairy. The moment its feet hit the ground, a brownish shade enveloped its limbs, increasing the length of its stride significantly. Before Mawile could process the order, the raticate was in front of it, biting into Mawile's fur from the left. It was only her keen instincts that made her bring the jaw down, preventing the rodent from gouging into her with a single strike.

The steel jaw slammed against the raticate's fang, causing the mouse to leap away, and ready a second strike.

"First blood to me," Neesha smirked.

Red gritted his teeth. Developing strategies mid-battle was never his cup of tea. This was Gary's domain. He had always been the one to study everything beforehand, and use the knowledge to create a strategy that would work without fail. The lack of information about 'Hyper Fang' put the situation into uncharted territory.

Red did not know what to do. For someone like him, information was everything. To deal with a situation in the absence of information was not something he was acquainted with.

_Focus._ He told himself. _Focus on what you know. Raticate's plus point is his speed. Need to take it away from him. What can you do?_

"Mawile," He called out. " Raticate is too fast. Slow it down. Icy Wind."

"Wile!" The fairy accepted his logic, closing her eyes. In less than a second, she took control over the element, before she let go. A gale of biting, cold winds weaved around her, before fiercely blowing all over the arena. Even Red had to pull his shirt tighter to keep himself from shivering.

Raticate though was a completely different picture. Its dirty brown fur, was now laden with white streaks of snow, its whiskers heavy and sticking to its face, and its feet now shivering against the biting cold that had just inundated him. Even the floor was frosted over, with flakes of snow here and there.

"That's not gonna stop Raticate." Neesha challenged. "Leap into the air, and use Hyper Fang."

"Arial countermeasures, Mawile," Red instructed.

Mawile nodded in acknowledgment, as she spun her steel jaw into the air, and in less than a second, liberated out a wave of electricity into the atmosphere. The power behind it was barely enough to cause any lasting, direct damage in a standard fight, and certainly not when cast by Mawile, who wasn't tuned to electricity in the first place.

Fortunately, Thunder Wave was not meant to cause direct damage. Instead, it was an area-of-effect technique, employing a succession of weak electric waves into the terrain, which in this case, happened to be air. Had Raticate been grounded, it would have been able to shake it off, with the earth absorbing the majority of the current. In the air, however, it was a sitting duck, equally vulnerable to electricity as any flying pokémon was.

The Thunder Wave traversed through its body, inducing spasms in its muscles and nerves. One moment, it was up there, its trajectory positioned to take maximum advantage of its momentum. Now, it was spasming in the air, falling down to the ground head first.

Directly at Mawile.

This is probably gonna hurt. Red estimated, seeing Mawile poised like that. The jaw pushed back slightly, before it came swinging in a half-circle, and slammed into Raticate's sides, sending it towards the periphery of the arena, bruising and tumbling through the ground.

Raticate did not move after that, its half-shut eyes indicative of its complete incapacitation.

"Raticate is unable to battle." Cory declared with a strange grin on his lips. "Mawile is the winner."

"I don't believe this. I've fought against stronger opponents. How did I lose to this—?" Neesha began.

"Stop right there." Red interrupted comically. "If you are really going to go on with the 'how did I lose to this nobody who started a week ago?', please don't."

Neesha blinked, settling on a blank stare at him. Cory copied her expression.

"Sorry. It's a 'been there, done that' scenario for me."

More staring.

"Uhm, don't you have any more battles for me?" Red asked Cory pleadingly.

"Huh?" Cory blinked again. "I mean yeah, I do. Your battles have been lodged in the books. You can collect your winnings when you leave today."

"Wait a minute," Neesha butted in. "I may have lost this battle, but I will win the war. My next pokémon will surely defeat you."

Mawile sighed.

* * *

An hour and three battles later, Red was completely exhausted. The Trainer Square provided its occupants with Heal Spray, an herbal medicine that numbed pain, reduced fatigue, and increased regeneration when applied to pokémon. After Raticate's defeat, he had applied some on Mawile to shake off the lasting effects of the battle. Of course, she wasn't in perfect condition, but she was no longer exhausted. Mawile had fought Neesha's wartortle after that, totally intoxicated in her glory over her previous victory.

It had been a bad idea, and she ended up being thrashed by the wartortle.

That had been the start. Ignoring her injuries and her slowly decreasing stamina, Mawile had decisively gone ahead with succeeding battles, before Red could even decide if he wanted to fight in the first place. Her succeeding opponent had been an unfortunate furret, and the entire room had been privy to the disposition of a gravely-irritated mawile. Next, a vicious arbok had nearly gotten her crushed, but that had ended in a veritable disaster, where Mawile had nearly bitten its tail off.

However, in all of that blood and gore, Red had discovered an important fact: The Trainer Square loved violence. The more bloodshed, the more the videos of these battles sold, and the more money they made. Also, depending upon a trainer's winning streak, he or she might be invited to special challenges held on weekends. Winners of such challenges were often rewarded with high amounts of battle points, which could be used to redeem fairly rare pokémon. These weekend prizes were mostly funded by the betting crowd, and often, a high-performing trainer would find himself someone intending to sponsor his growth.

After every battle, Mawile would demand to be sprayed with the herbal product, and keep on fighting with a prejudice Red hadn't witnessed before. He could sense that she was literally running on fumes, but Mawile would just not stop.

"Mawile, that is enough. We can just call it a day today. You need to rest before you can continue any further battles."

Mawile shook her head, patiently waiting for the Heal Spray.

_What has gotten into her? Why's she being all stubborn like this?_

Mawile, Red was learning, was quite different from the other pokémon he had interacted with at the ranch. For one, Mawile guarded her independence ferociously. Instead of waiting for his commands, Mawile would actually listen to his logic and then weigh them against her own choices. If she felt that he had a better answer, she had no qualms about following Red's advice— something that demonstrated her lack of personal arrogance in such matters. On the other hand, should Red's idea fall short of her own approach, she had no qualms about ignoring him either. Add that to her extreme stubbornness, and you had a dangerous mixture.

Whether the mixture was a boon or a hindrance was still up for debate.

That being said, Red was someone who knew his own limitations. Creating strategies on spot was Gary's thing, not his own. He was more along the lines of 'observe, analyze and then reverse engineer it from scratch' kind of guy. After the impromptu battle with Ritchie, Red had come up with several strategies over countering the effect of terrain and getting past Mawile's own lack of speed. But to do so during a battle? Not a chance.

All in all, it was a pretty disastrous combination. He was not used to thinking out of the box mid-battle, and Mawile waited for him to issue orders, out of some kind of affection if nothing else. Which resulted in her attacks being delayed every single time. Against the opponents he had faced so far, it might not have meant a lot. But against a skilled opponent, Mawile was as good as a sitting duck.

The battle against the wartortle had vividly pointed that out.

_I need to figure out a way to come up with strategies against everything that Mawile can possibly face. The effect of terrain, her own vulnerabilities, her strengths and creating better move pools. All of that. It will require an extensive study, but it could work. If I can figure out all the combinations of the effect of terrain, coupled with how it affected her vulnerabilities then…_

Pause.

_And now I'm acting like an idiot. There is no way I can possibly think of every single combination out there like that. Even if I do manage that, which will likely take years of extensive research, it would still fall short when facing an original move or tactic from an elite-trainer. No, I need to figure out some other way._

He glanced at Mawile again. The little fairy was doing her best to keep fighting as if to prove her strength to everyone out there. Mawile hated it when people looked down at her, and the defeat against the wartortle had certainly not scored any points in that category.

_What if Mawile is the one that takes all the decisions during battle? That would significantly cut down the time required t develop this strategy. Trainers depend upon their opponents to say their commands out loud. With Mawile choosing her own moves, it would not only solve our problems but would also serve to confuse others and make her unpredictable._

The worst thing a trainer can be in a battle is predictable. It was one of Lance's most iconic quotes. Red even had a T-shirt with that printed on it. And what could be more unpredictable than the trainer staying all silent and the pokémon battling all by themselves?

He tried very hard to suppress the maniacal grin trying to tear his face. The idea was good, but the execution would be hellishly difficult. For Mawile to take care of everything on the battlefield, she would need to be prepared for everything. Red had no idea how he would make that happen, but by God, he loved the idea.

"Mawile, let's call it a day. I've got something in mind for you, and you're gonna love it."

Mawile shook her head. She still had to avenge her defeat at the hands of that turtle. It was bad enough that her Double Team wasn't better than Shellder's. Another water-type showing her up was simply more than she could stand.

"Mawile, I know you want to show everyone just how strong you are, but you cannot do that if you are already spent and exhausted. I have something in mind, something really good that is only going to help you. I promise."

Mawile sighed. She knew a losing argument when she saw one. Besides, alongside her stamina, the adrenaline rush was slowly leaving her. The herbal medicine was good, but even that could only keep up so far. Perhaps it was for the better that she would get herself a bit of rest. A long, comfortable sleep did feel rather inviting to her right now.

"Mawile…" Red caressed her left cheek softly.

"Maw…" she moaned, the rush leaving her, as her body finally gave way. She cuddled into Red, her head rubbing him gently before she slowly fell asleep.

* * *

**Somewhere near the west coast of Pallet Town**

"I'm… not exactly sure about all of this," Ritchie muttered, starting at the canister in his hand. He had met with a certain man, as recommended by Dr. Pym, the one man on earth who had chosen to believe in his innocence and not blindly follow the League's orders and relinquish him off to the nearest Police Station. As instructed, he had taken the local transport to arrive at the West Coast, to this desolate building named 'The Climbers'. The name did sound somewhat odd, but who was he to judge?

That was where he had met this man, who went by the name Mickey. Clearly a pseudonym, but Ritchie wasn't going to question him on it. He had more important things to think about at the moment. Like his suspended Trainer License, and his team's deteriorating condition.

"Mickey is probably the one person who can provide you a Thunderstone at the moment. You need to understand though, that those things don't come cheap."

"But I don't have that much money at hand. I could get a loan from the bank for such a transaction but— "

"Don't be stupid. The moment you do that, they'd instantly pinpoint your location to the local police. Might as well just visit them directly."

"But then…"

"Talk to Mickey. Explain your situation. He might be able to come to a solution. If not… I suppose you'll have to try fighting against the word of The Samuel Oak."

Needless to say, there had been no second thoughts about the matter. He might have been from Frodomar City, but Samuel Oak was practically legendary in this world. For such a man to file a complaint against him for that Red… Ritchie bristled at that. Then again, he should have seen that coming. How else would that Red have such an exotic and bloodthirsty monster as a starter? Clearly it was a case of blatant favoritism from that man.

Which led to the present situation.

"I get your situation, kid." The man Mickey, a bald-headed man in his early thirties, replied in a somewhat gruff tone. "But a Thunderstone's no joke. Say what? Seventeen and a half, and you've got a deal, and that's because Pym's an old friend of mine."

"But I don't have that kind of money at hand. I had around seven thousand at best when I came to Pallet, and more than half of that was spent on my pokémon's treatment. I can give you all my documents as proof. I'll sign in a legal contract to pay you back in a few months, with interest. Just let me have the Thunderstone now, and save my pikachu. I'll go to the police and clear everything up. Hell, I'll go and beg to that monster and his trainer for forgiveness and then clean my license. I've got a strong team; I can fight battles all day long. I'd pay you back in 2 months. Please, please I beg you, help me out. "

" Do you even hear yourself speak? Ya think I got where I am listening to every little runt's piddly ass problems" Mickey mocked.

"..."

Mickey let out a laugh." I wasn't born yesterday, kid. You got your license suspended. Even if you think you can receive a get-out-of-jail-free card by appealing to Oak and his little fella, it still means three months of abstinence from being a trainer, since your License will take time to be renewed. Then, you have the crime of attacking a rookie, not just his pokémon. Think of the black spot that got you. Two months, eh? I probably won't see a single pokédollar 'fore the year's up."

"But I…"

"Nah, kid. I don't make loosin' deals. If you got something worth trading for we can talk. Otherwise, get lost."

"But what else can I give you?" Ritchie asked desperately, clenching his pokéballs in his fist. "I don't have money. My license is suspended, and not even my— not even my pokémon are worth anything, in their current condition." He cursed himself as soon those words left his lips, knowing that selling his team— his friends— wasn't something he'd ever consider.

But he was out of time. He was barely able to afford the constant life support required to keep his pikachu alive. Desperation was his new anthem.

"You tell me, what can I possibly give you in return?" He asked with a sense of finality.

Mickey gave a sharp gaze at him. "Tell me, kid, just why is that pikachu so fuckin' important to you? Let it die. Go get yourself another one. Much cheaper than a thunderstone." He paused. "Oops, sorry. Ya don't have a trainer's license. Forgot 'bout that."

Ritchie's fingers drew blood, as his nails dug deeply into his own flesh.

"Because they are my team. Because I want to be the greatest pokémon trainer ever! I want to… I don't trade my team. I…"

"Excuses!" The man looked like he had just tasted a bad egg. "Tell you what kid, you seem like someone with some backbone. I've always thought that the League were pussies anyway. I think I know a man who'd actually hire people like you, Trainer License or not. Got his own independent organization and everything, and gets his workers all kinds of powerful pokémon. Team Rocket, heard of them?"

Ritchie took a step back in caution. Of course, he had heard of them. The official take on them was that they were a band of thugs, and the police were directed to arrest them on sight.

"They're criminals."

"So are you."

Ritchie felt himself take a step back at the man's ruthlessly honest reply. It hadn't dawned on him just how he appeared in the eyes of the law, but the casual statement made the severity of the situation crashing down on him hard. It was true. He was now a criminal. Even if he was able to get a pardon, the black mark on his license would remain forever.

"But I'm not… I'm not a…"

Mickey leveled him a cold stare. "You are not what? I met with ya, cause ole Pym recommended you. This doesn't mean ya get to waste my time. Time is money, squirt. Either get me the money or fuck off."

"I didn't mean that. You get what…"

"I don't have time for snobs like you. I gave ya a way out. Take it or find a better way yourself. My contact, he calls himself Bach, but the name's Butch. People mistake that for Bitch. You don't wanna do that." He let out a laugh. "I get you in, and Bach pays me money for the thunderstone. Whaddaya say?"

"You mean… you'll sell me?"

"Do I look like the one with the fetish?" The man barked. "Team Rocket's no band of thugs. They've bigger things happening there. Things your piss-poor League has no business poking their noses in. I get you in, and he gives me two months of your salary— after ya pass from the trainee to the grunt stage, that is. After that, your free to make your own money. You'll never hear from me again."

"They pay nine thousand a month?" Ritchie asked, gobsmacked.

"Of course, they do. Whaddaya think? The grunts are morons just like those… never mind. Decide now, kid. Or get lost. "

Ritchie paused at that. He was a registered trainer, but now that life was seemingly at an end. Team Rocket provided a handsome salary, even to its grunts. If he had no future with the League, could he build a new one within Team Rocket? The moral side of his mind told out that he'd be joining an illegal organization, while the pragmatic side wisely pointed out that he was already on the run from the law. What did it matter anymore if he walked one step or a hundred? He had crossed the line anyway.

He thought of his pikachu, suffering in the hospital room. Without a Thunderstone to repair its electric pouches and tail, it probably wouldn't live much longer. He remembered his Taillow, its beak fractured. He remembered Princess, his dear Zippo, and Happy. They deserved better. All of them deserved to live and grow strong.

"I've got a counteroffer."

Mickey glared at him. "Look brat, I'm in no mood to banter. Just decide or get the fuck outta—"

"I'll sign up with Team Rocket, but not just for the Thunderstone. I want you to get me fifty thousand pokédollars, and for that, you can have an entire years' salary I get there. You're making at least a hundred percent on that deal."

Mickey arched an eyebrow, but Ritchie's determined stance did not waver.

_C'mon, agree. I can start over with fifty grand. My entire team will be healed with that much, with more to spare. Agree, damn it._

"If ya think ya can just take the money and run, you'll be in for a surprise. Bach's a bitch over money. He'd catch you, and make you squeal. And I know a squealer when I see one." He gave a nasty grin. "He'd kill your fuckin' pikachu right in front of your eyes, and drench you in its blood."

Ritchie visibly shuddered at that. "I'm not going to take your money and run. It's for my team's treatment. You don't trust me. Fine. But you trust Dr. Pym, right? Give it to him. I want to use it to heal my team. If anything's left, I'll… I'll use it on TMs. I'll not take a single penny for myself. I swear. Now do we have a deal or not?"

"You realize what ya say, right?" Mickey spoke in a no-nonsense tone. "Whether you live or die, no matter what shit falls on your head, you keep working for Bach for one year. That's twelve whole months. And a permanent criminal record. There ain't no goin' back to the league after Team Rocket. A word of advice kid. Throw away those pokémon of yours, and start afresh. This ain't worth it."

"I thought you didn't have time for meaningless banter." Ritchie threw Mickey's own words back at him. "Take it or leave it. Fifty grand, for a year's salary, and I'm no slacker."

Mickey stared at the teen for several seconds before letting out a bark of laughter. "I like ya kid." He extended his hand out. "We've got a deal."

Ritchie stared at the man 's hand for a moment, an uncomfortable feeling spreading out through him. He could feel it, a turning point of sorts.

_A deal with a devil._

Ritchie tried to hide the tremor in his palm as he grasped the outstretched hand. He was somewhat proud that he managed to hide the shakiness in his voice as he replied.

"We have a deal."

* * *

** **Back in Viridian City** **

After leaving the Trainer Square for the day, Red trudged his way back to the Pokémon Center. Submitting Mawile's pokéball to the helpful Nurse, he walked to his room in silence, his mind inundated by a hundred different thoughts. He had finally become a trainer, and his current predicament would either make or break him in the future, especially considering that what he wanted to do was purely theoretical so far, and utterly unconventional. Not even the pokémon that participated in Conferences demonstrated what he was expecting Mawile to perform.

He wasn't arrogant enough to bet everything on himself. That meant that he needed help. And there was only one person he could trust in this situation.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring— "Oh hello, Red. What a surprise. You finally worked up the courage to call, hmm?"

Red opened his mouth in confusion at the odd comment, before meeting the man's eyes. For a moment, he felt something akin to anger in those gray eyes, before the emotion was extinguished and replaced with pity. Realizing that his lips had shut again, he opened them the second time, ready to declare his confusion at the oddity of the situation.

_Don't. It's a bad idea. Forget it._

"Hey, old man. Didn't expect you to be so…"

"To the point?" Oak supplied.

"I was going to say frisky," Red responded. "You are usually more laid back in the afternoon, what with your siesta and everything."

"Hm. I'd have, normally." The man replied with fake affability, "but then an idiot had to run into a criminal incident, and then forgot to tell me about it. Unfortunately, other people are not so forgetful as this idiot, which is why I had to spend an entire evening with a League official." His expressions turned sour at that, "And that is probably why I had to choose to work now, instead of having that siesta you mentioned."

Shit. How did he—?— never mind. "Wonder who that idiot is?" Red supplied, knowing very well that he was flirting with disaster. Inwardly, he couldn't help but wonder how the older man had come to know about it. Had Ritchie made a complaint against him or something?

Oak stared at him.

Red kept up his vacant expression.

…

...

Oak sighed, his tone returning to his usual exasperated state when dealing with Red. "Could you have a lousier poker face?"

"What are you talking about?" The teen questioned, his expression the epitome of confusion.

"Never mind." Oak waved it away. "Tell me, Red Ketchum, what prompted you to accept a battle with another trainer without being registered in the first place? Especially knowing that should Mawile be hurt, you'd be all by yourself till you reached Viridian city?"

"It's kind of a long story. Wait a minute, how did you find out about it?"

"That's what you are worried about?" Oak asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," Red went on, forcing courage into his words. "I was there, Ritchie was there, and we were in a forest. How did you find out? Did you have someone follow me? Old man, I thought we were clear about me being ready to go on a journey by myself, without others looking out for me."

"Yes, and now I am reconsidering my judgment." Oak finally responded. "And stop trying to change the subject, that's not going to work this time."

Damn. Red mentally cursed. "But still, how did you find out?"

Oak sighed. He knew how stubborn Red could be. "From Kaz. I had him look out for you after you left."

"So he was there? And he did nothing?"

"Seriously? You were angry a moment ago that you were being followed, and now you are angry because he didn't show up and help you? He wasn't supposed to be there in the first place." Oak retorted incredulously.

"Yeah, but if he was there, might as well help us out." Red insisted

"So you do accept that it was a dangerous situation and you needed help."

"Well, I never expected him to go all crazy and start attacking us like that. I mean, we were supposed to have a match, and then win or lose, we would never see each other again. Maybe we'd meet up a few years later and talk about old battles."

Oak blinked.

"...That's what happens in stories." Red offered.

The old professor resisted the sudden urge to facepalm. "Red, you were in actual danger there. And you should know, Kaz did help you. Without his aid, Mawile wouldn't have been able to keep you safe. He stopped the other pikachu from zapping you."

Oh right. He remembered. The pikachu had tried to zap him, but there had been no attack. He had been too terrified back then to consider the abnormality. Had that been Kaz?

"So… Kaz saved me?"

"Yes, and he'd like a little thanks the next time you meet him."

"Wait, you mean he's gonna be following me around? How am I going to have MY trainer journey if Kaz keeps following me around like that?"

"No, he is not. He wanted to ensure that you reached Viridian City safely. So far, you have managed to… how did Kaz put it? Oh yeah, 'manage to keep your head on your shoulders', so I am willing to accept that you can be on your own without guidance. For now."

"Not forever?"

Oak did not deign to give him a response.

"You mean he's going to follow me around again? Seriously old man, you don't know Kaz. He'll make my life a living hell."

"Then I will know that you deserve it. Your training journey will probably carve a bloody path if the Pallet Forest is of any indication."

"Come now, you are overreacting. That's all."

"We will see about that later. For now, you are allowed to travel freely by yourself, but should you pull another dangerous stunt again…"

"I promise, I promise," Red begged.

Oak sighed. "Now why don't you tell me what happened with this Ritchie Kent."

"Um, Ritchie was being an ass, and.. Wait. Wait, that wasn't the first reason. He was the one who asked for an unofficial battle, and Mawile wanted to show that Charmander Zippo— seriously, who names a Charmander after a lighter? And did I mention that Ritchie was being a complete ass?"

"You did." Oak rolled his eyes.

Red sighed, his shoulders drooping. "I know, I screwed up. I shouldn't have agreed to it in the first place, but one thing led to another, and Mawile and Charmander had a big fight, and Mawile… well, she can be a bit enthusiastic, you know." He finished lamely, remembering the spectacular yet, brutal tactics that Mawile had utilized during that battle. A part of him couldn't wait before Mawile could replicate the technique on a larger pokémon like a charizard and—

Wait. On second thought, it better be something other than a charizard. Charizard were awesome. Ritchie was the lacking one.

"Enthusiastic," Oak repeated.

"She… kinda almost bit its tail off. Twice."

Oak rubbed his nose, feeling a headache coming. "And here I was thinking that she'd get over it."

"What do you mean, old man?"

Oak sighed. If Red was going to hold custody of Mawile for the foreseeable future, he did have the right to know. "Listen, Red. There's something you should know about. Mawile… well, she is quite strong, stronger actually, even compared to most Mawile's her age. And unlike most starters, Mawile isn't actually a baby, she's almost five years old."

"That's… long?" Red asked, not knowing how large a mawile's general lifespan generally were.

"The mawile species, have fairly long life spans. While they cannot live for hundreds of years like a pure steel-type such as an agron or a steelix can, they can still survive well over a hundred years. Then again, most mawile never make it past their first decade— having become prey long before that."

Red didn't know what to feel about that.

"Mawile… are rather bloodthirsty by nature, mostly because of their instincts and way of life. Being small and easily preyed upon, wild mawile tend to go to extreme levels to hunt down prey and feast on it, since they are never sure when they'd get their next meal, or which moment might be their last."

"So… Mawile is?" Red didn't know how to phrase it. Come to think of it, he was unsure what he was supposed to think about it all, or how it changed things in regards to his knowledge of Mawile.

Your mawile… she's a bit more bloodthirsty than most, though that might be because of her own genetics. Mabel tells me that Mawile had a wild beartic as a parent, and beartic are rather vicious to begin with. In fact, in her initial two years, Mawile caused a lot of problems for Mabel's little ranch in Kalos. She retired to the higher reaches of Pomace Mountain to give Mawile a more restricted environment."

"I don't understand." Red refuted. "I know Mawile's not big on compassion and non-violence, but you're making her out to be some kind of inhuman monster."

"Pokémon are not human, Red." Oak retorted back. "I can see why you fail to grasp that point, considering your own childhood, but they aren't human. They are powerful creatures who are able to function alongside human society simply because humans have the technology and the power to keep them restrained."

"Sure," Red retorted back, "The next time I meet Mia and Kaz, I'll be sure to keep my distance in case they eat me for dinner. Wonder why your vicious Dragonite doesn't go off on a rampage and massacre Pallet Town. He's a monster, after all."

"That's not what I was talking about and you know it." Oak snapped. "And just so you know, Mia could cause an extreme imbalance in people's emotions should she so much as dip into her powers. Kaz can single-handedly massacre the entirety of Pallet Town before you knew it. Not I, not you, nor even the great Lance would be able to do anything about it."

"But they don't." Red was getting angrier by the second.

"Exactly, because they choose not to do that, not because they cannot. A knife has a sharp edge and it will draw blood should my palm fall on it. The fact that the knife is hence, kept sideways to avoid the sharp edge doesn't mean it is blunt." Oak answered." Red, I'm not trying to make you angry, nor convince you to see pokémon differently. God knows that understanding pokémon has been my lifelong dream. I just… I just want to point it out, that your way of seeing things might not match with Mawile's own perspective at all times."

"Don't worry, Professor. I know they aren't. Unlike humans, pokémon do not make other's lives a living hell because of pettiness."

Oak chose not to comment on that.

"Besides, if you were so… concerned about Mawile's bloodlust, why did you give her to me in the first place?" Red's voice had gotten harsher, and an odd gleam had come over his countenance. "I don't see how a bloodthirsty pokémon might seem like a good alternative to that pikachu, though I can see what's common between—"

"Enough!" Oak raised his voice.

"I know that you are still angry about the pikachu incident, but I will thank you not to link it with every single thing. I am sorry that I didn't take precautions for handling pikachu, but Mawile is a different matter altogether. I admit that she's got issues in the past, but Mawile has been slowly getting over them."

That shut Red up.

"Mabel told me how Mawile had become more… composed, and wanted to see the world beyond the mountain. Yes, I know she has had her issues with… occasionally biting others, but that is an instinctive response in her genetic makeup. However, I do wonder if Mawile had really gained control over her bloodlust, or if it was simply another example of deceit played by her on Mabel."

"I don't see how that matters anyway. Mawile and I… we are pretty good friends."

Oak smiled softly. "Yes, you might be, but you are new to this partnership. The bond between you is slowly forming, and it hasn't been tested yet. I am only concerned that things might fall into disarray, and should you have serious disagreements, then Mawile could possibly—"

"Attack me? Is that what you are saying?" A part of him pointed out that the Professor did make sense.

"It is a possibility. I'd suggest that you start catching other pokémon. Just to be sure. If I had known about this earlier, perhaps I might have gotten you something else and-"

"That's not necessary, old man." Red interrupted. "I have accepted Mawile as my starter and will continue with her. You don't have to worry about it. Speaking of which, is there anything else I should know about Mawile's terrible bloodlust? Maiming perhaps?"

"Don't get cocky with me," Oak warned. "Just keep in mind that she's pretty strong for her species, and has a tendency to go overboard during fights. As her trainer, it will be your responsibility to oversee that it never happens. I'd hate to see Mawile being taken away because you were lackadaisical about it, and believed that everything she did was fair game."

"Old man—"

"Let me finish," The professor replied sternly. "You may not have taken the Ritchie Kent incident sternly, but I did. Mr. Kent has been charged with the serious assault on an unregistered pokémon trainer. Unless you put a reign on Mawile's more vicious tendencies, it might pose a serious problem in the future. Maiming another pokémon might be tolerated, but what if she attacked another trainer in rage? What happens then?"

For a moment, Red remembered the pikachu, fallen on the ground, and the taillow whom Mawile had inflicted with a crushing defeat. He had just taken Mawile and ran, but perhaps she had already taken care of the attackers before that.

"I… realize that bit. I'm working on that, but it will take time. Mawile and I… we don't know each other very well, and so far in this journey, she has been rather well-behaved for most of it. I am not putting our partnership at risk by bringing in complications about human prejudices and perspectives."

"But Red—"

"Besides, it's not like Mawile is all that bad. You yourself told me that Mawile used to help heal the pokémon babies, right? Well, I think that side of her is slowly showing up."

"Huh?" The professor tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

Red grinned. "Mawile's got a new hobby. Gardening."

Oak arched an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Yeah," Red went on animatedly. "Though I still wonder where she got that cherry-blossom from, she's scarily overprotective of it. She threatened me, quite viciously, should I ever come within two feet of the tree."

Oak blinked.

"Don't ask." Red deadpanned.

"Well… I suppose they come in all forms. Either way, I do not remember Mabel talking about Mawile's love for gardening. Must have slipped her mind."

"Give her a break, professor. She's still growing." Red replied, as if speaking to a petulant child who had been caught in wrongdoing.

"...right." Oak retorted, unsure what to feel at being treated like a five-year-old. "Anything else you can trouble me with?"

"There is something actually," Red answered, remembering what he wanted to bring up in the first place. Here was the old man, warning him against Mawile's behavior, and his plan was to let her battle independently. Polar opposites.

But that wasn't the only thought in his head. Something else had clicked. A random observation, one seen nearly every day, throughout his life, but only now it began to make sense.

"Professor," he began slowly, "tell me something honestly. Kaz is a psychic, so it's brainpower is at least several dozens of times higher than a human, right? Then why do human Trainers need to direct a psychic pokémon all through the course of a battle? Why would a nidoking need to wait for its trainer's orders, when it knows its own body and moves better? Why would a kadabra—?"

Oak looked up as if taken aback "Red, it is better if you understand that—"

But Red's mind was racing far too ahead to listen. Observation, analysis and developing strategy were his strong points, and currently, he could feel a single chain of thought link together...

"_They are powerful creatures who are functioning alongside human society. "_

"_We have the technology to keep them restrained. "_

"_They are not human."_

"_Keeping a knife sideways doesn't mean it's blunt."_

"Because allowing them to be their own masters would make them independent," Red spoke up, his mind ignoring whatever the man might have stated in the meanwhile. "Pokémon are powerful, and so we maintain the illusion that working for us, following our commands, will make them more powerful. If this illusion falls, then pokémon would be the dominant force on the planet. We'd be the hunted instead of the hunter. You fear Mawile hurting another pokémon, but is independent, it would be humans-us, that would be the prey."

Silence pervaded for several seconds.

Oak spoke first. "I always knew that your demonstrations of frightful intelligence were never a fluke. It is why I thought you'd make a wonderful scientist." He chuckled. "Coincidence or not, you seem to have grasped a truth of our world, and quite early at that. Most trainers never seem to realize it, and those that do, are already past elite-level, and raised teams through force, hardship, and attrition. At best, they try to be friendly and caring towards their team, if nothing else. Besides, trained pokémon, nine out of ten, are much stronger than wild ones. Peace is, after all is said and done, the art of holding the bigger stick than your opponent."

"A fancy line considering we are the ones selling the sticks."

"Don't be idealistic. Look at the world around us. Why do you think we live in congregated areas and bind our entire population with large-walled, enclosed cities? Why the Kanto mainland… despite being so large, has just thirty percent of it colonized for human habitation?" Oak paused. "Our world is not a human world. It is a world where we coexist with several other species of creatures, stronger than us, and in some cases, smarter. You are simply being too idealistic and not considering the data at hand. There is a reason that Forbidden Zones still exist. Why do you think that despite us humans having been there for millennia, our oldest surviving records barely go further than six hundred years?"

That shut Red up.

"You must understand," Oak sighed. "Humans were not always on top of the food chain. We don't have strong physical bodies. We can't fly. We have no control over the elements. We barely have any records that date beyond some thousand years ago and that's probably because our species only role was being food. Our path to the top has always been through several skills, weapons, and until most recently, technology. In time pokémon themselves became our power. Pokémon were treated quite cruelly, or at least they were, before the world became a bit more civilized. We seem to have outgrown our ancestral systems of mass suppression of pokémon, become more gentle with time, and gained a frightening nemesis in return."

Red looked confused " Which is? "

" Paperwork. " Oak sighed. He bloody well meant it too.

* * *

_"You can stay here, dance to your heart's content, and practice your psychic techniques. Grow stronger. Strong enough to survive out there. That way, the next time we meet, I'll have no problem taking you with me. Deal?"_

That was what Mia had accepted, in exchange for allowing her precious Red to leave on his trainer journey by himself. She had sworn to herself, that she'd practice the psychic arts every day from dawn to dusk, exhausting herself so bad that even Kaz would shed tears at her dedication. She'd use her limited talents and take them to a level that even Kaz would feel proud, and to a certain extent, jealous of her. That did seem to be the best plan. Red would be so surprised when he met her next. He'd be oh-so-sorry that he'd chosen to trust in some random fairy over his precious Mia. Constant diligence did seem to be the key ingredient in making that happen. Her days would be filled with diligent training, learning to better wield psychic energy and—

…

…

And maybe a dance or two.

Mia blushed at that.

…

Or perhaps six or seven.

Or perhaps one every hour?

Or two?

Damn it, diligence was hard. Why couldn't she just develop her talents while dancing? That would have been amazing. Surely there was something she could improve at even while twirling around?

It had been nearly a week since Red left Pallet Town with the other fairy. She wasn't sure what it was, but there had been something that had distressed the kind, old professor in the last two days. Mia hoped that it didn't really have anything to do with Red. She had always been able to sense Red's emotions from afar, even if he was away at the Ranch. From what Kaz had told her, Red was going to Viridian city, that place with lots of buildings, and barely any greenery. Mia wasn't sure she liked Viridian City all that much.

_If only I could sense him from here._

A meager desire it was not, since Mia's entire life revolved around Red and Red alone. Delia, she was another human that took up a mother's position in her life, but Red was the one it was based on. Red fed her, talked to her, taught her and told her stories about so many things. In fact, half of her day was centered around processing Red's emotions and trying to construct his thoughts from them.

And now, Red was away, and Mia was alone. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Or could she?

She was a fairy, right? Psychic power was one thing, but Mia was a kirlia, and kirlia was a fairy first and foremost. She grew beautiful when surrounded by happy thoughts and feelings. She felt stronger when Red's spirits were boundless. She grew sad and decayed when Red was hurt. Dancing not only brought her pleasure but also filled her with joy. And wasn't joy, and love, the most powerful emotion of all?

Mia smiled to herself. Perhaps there was something— some technique that she could master, even without sacrificing her dancing time, after all. She'd finally have something to show—

_ **RED!** _

Her awareness screamed in delight. The professor was talking to Red. She could feel it. The emotional changes she sensed around the professor were similar to the ones that happened when Red chatted with him. And that meant—

Mia gave a happy little spin, before shooting towards the Ranch.

* * *

"What you are suggesting is quite… bold." Oak suggested. "To try and make your team make their own decisions during battle. It is practically unheard of, for anyone to do it successfully."

"But why?" Red challenged. "I don' t understand the issue. Mawile understands her body physiology better than I ever could. I say Icy Wind, but it is her that actually gives it form and not just that. She does it in a matter of seconds, and that too, mid-battle. Pokémon do not have poor memories, as far as their attacks are concerned, and they do survive in the wild. Then why do they need to wait for the trainer to issue commands during a match?"

Oak remained quiet, suspiciously so.

" I have seen Mawile display all of her abilities perfectly by herself, and she is also able to make logical decisions mid-battle as well." Red's face scrunched up."I remember her facing Ritchie's taillow when it used Double Team. Mawile hadn't realized they were illusions and chose to go forward with an Iron Head attack, a decent strategy had they been real. When I suggested Icy Wind instead, she looked at me like I'd grown a new head."

Oak chuckled at that." Bet she was surprised when it worked."

"She was, but it got me thinking. If I could teach her about the different forms of attacks, the effect of terrain and illusion, about type advantages and disadvantages, then she'd be able to make better decisions mid-battle."

"That is what a trainer is for, Red. To make the better decision during battle."

"Seems more like a liability than a trainer." Red refuted. "I offered Mawile to make her strong, not be her crutch."

Oak sighed. "Do you realize just how utterly exhaustive that is? Teaching a pokémon all of that? Besides, even if a psychic could even learn all of it, you cannot expect all pokémon to be the same. A rhyhorn forgets the cause of its movement as soon as it starts running."

"Yes, but it sure doesn't forget that being in rain saps its strength." Came the retort. "Stimulated responses, old man." Red appeared way too excited at the possibility. "Though enough simulated practice of the effect of different terrain, my pokémon can judge which moves would be effective, and which wouldn't. It will be a time-consuming task, but the end result will be worth it."

"I highly doubt that such a course of action would be viable while being on a journey, Red," Oak answered. "You have just started your journey, and have yet to acquire a badge, let alone all eight. There is also the question of the league conferences."

Red scrunched his face again. The old man had a point. A very serious point. "I… hadn't taken that into account."

"See that you do." The professor advised. "Also, do not be so naive to think that you are the first person in history to even think of such an approach. Several trainers, mostly elites and champion-level trainers out there, have tried and failed in this venture. Besides, there are other reasons why I'd, and not just me, every human would discourage you from undertaking this venture."

"Which is?"

"Pride, and pragmatism," Oak explained. "If your team is the one making all decisions by themselves, then what remains of your role in the team? Acting as a caretaker for the baby additions? Why would a charizard obey you, if it is perfectly capable of making its own decisions in and out of battle?"

" Doesn't the fact that I taught them everything count?"

" Hardly." Red was shocked at the man's dry tone. "If you are good at something, never do it for free. Mawile might be willing to follow your orders now, but as you said, she listens to your commands because they make sense. When your commands aren't needed, what good are you?"

"You think that pokémon follow a utilitarian policy?"

"Don't we all?" Oak challenged. "Why exactly did you want a charmander? Wasn't it because you wanted a dragon? Because dragons were superior? Weren't you being utilitarian as well?"

"I was." Red accepted. "But that means that I'd have to intentionally keep my team from being the best they can be."

"And here I thought it was about you becoming a Champion. Was it not? Isn't that what being a trainer is all about? To capture them all, train them and use them to achieve your ambitions. Wasn't that why you wanted to keep Mia away? Because you treat her like family, and would, therefore, hesitate to use her as a tool?"

Red stayed silent, his mind and heart in conflict over what the professor was presenting to him.

"Then I… I…"

"Don't act impulsively, Red," Oak replied in a softer tone. 'You have one of the brightest minds I've ever seen, and I know that you do not give up so easily. Just… whatever you do, make sure you think it through."

Red let out a mirthless chuckle at that. "Don't worry about that, old man. I'll be perfectly—"

"KIRRLLLLLLLLL!"

Mia dashed into the room, half afloat and half on the ground. Red estimated that the Kirlia had used a form of psychic agility to accelerate her locomotion, and got overwhelmed, losing her coordination in the process. She nearly slammed herself against one of the larger glass canisters, before swiftly turning to her right, and facing the main screen.

"KIRRLLLL!" She yelled in excitement.

"MIA!" Red yelled back, excited to see his little sister.. "I didn't think you'd be awake. What's wrong with Pallet Town? First, the old man misses his nap, and now you're here instead of dancing?"

The kirlia scowled at that and began to explain, rather colorfully, how she was not in fact, dancing, and how she was actually working on developing her own skills. She might have conveniently forgotten to mention that she had not put a pause to her dancing activities, but that was neither here nor there.

Red raised his hands in surrender. As a kirlia, Mia still did not have the skill to use Telepathy. Out of all psychics in Kanto, only the abra-line showed tremendous potential in that field. However, upon further evolution into a gardevoir, if and when that happened, Mia would gain the ability. Honing the skill though, was a completely different matter.

That said, Red had learned to recognize nearly everything Mia said from her animated gestures, and while he might not understand every single thing, he still got the gist of it. "Well, I'm sure you've been practicing really hard, haven't you?"

BOUNCE!

"Kirrllll!" Mia sang, allowing her powers to defy gravity to bounce up into the air, before slowly returning to the floor. Red was right, of course. There were so many things that she had practiced. Kaz had taught her a little bit of Telekinesis, and she had just progressed from levitating a rubber ball to a wooden box the other day. She had also been working on her own Fairy Wind though it needed a lot more practice to get it in a passable range. She'd demonstrate all of that in front of Red, and he'd be so happy.

Red laughed. "I'm very happy for you."

BOUNCE!

"And I can't wait to see you when I get back to Pallet Town."

BOUNCE!

"I'm in Viridian now, and from here, I'll be visiting Pewter, and then through Mt. Moon, get to Cerulean."

BOUNCE!

Mia frowned. Wasn't Red supposed to come home as quickly as possible? Why would he make such a—?

"From there, I'd probably visit Celadon City, and then take the water-route back to Pallet Town."

Mia stopped bouncing, a teary-eyed expression on her face. Red was going to take a very, very long time before he came home. Mia didn't like that. She wanted him there. She wanted him back home right now.

"But don't worry," Red replied. "I have Mawile with me, and I'll call you whenever I get to a new city."

Mia did not like it at all. All those thoughts about demonstrating her new moves flew out of the window.

"Llia?" She asked weakly. Was she being replaced? Was the other fairy better than her because she was stronger? Had Red already started forgetting about her?

_Please give me an indication that I am still important to you, as you are to me. Mia wished. Please show me that you can read me just as well as you could before._

Red seemed to understand her problem, as his expression further softened. "Don't worry, Mia. I'll be okay. Don't worry too much."

_No. No, he doesn't._

"Kirl," She murmured, and with that, Mia let out her first fake smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	5. Act 1 - Immolation | Chapter 5 - The Pokémon Master

"Day six. Trial forty-seven." Red noted, the pokédex in his hand recording his voice. "Mawile will attempt to produce and maintain Mist while using a second move. Shellder, look alive. Perhaps you can pick up a hint or two from this?"

Shellder squeaked, letting out a tiny bucket worth of water which leaked out from his shell onto the grass below.

Red rolled his eyes, before turning to the real object of the experiment. "Right, Mawile, try to get it right this time. Use Mist, and without losing your hold on it, employ exactly one clone. Can you do it?"

Mawile shook her head. Ever since her first day at Trainers Square, her life and training had been irrevocably changed. For one, Red was allowing her to fight completely by herself, and to make decisions on whatever she thought was best. If it worked, so be it. If it didn't, she had to suffer the consequences. A correct approach to an incoming attack meant a victory, which translated to more poképuffs before going to bed. An incorrect decision meant that her opponent would get in a solid hit, leaving a bruise behind. That meant the application of Heal Sprays and Full Restores on her person, along with a detailed analysis of what went wrong, and how to deal with that particular attack better. And that didn't include Red's own training sessions, in which he'd explain what a particular move did and the most common ways it was applied. After this, he would ask her to react accordingly. That, along with constant practice of her move sets, made it an incredibly hectic schedule for her.

On one hand, she could feel herself getting stronger with every session. Red was holding nothing back and was constantly pushing her which lead to a noticeable refinement in her ability to react to situations and battle efficiently in addition to allowing her to utilize her increasingly polished skills efficiently. On the other hand, it was an incredibly punishing schedule, pushing her to her limits. She always went to bed exhausted and would sometimes wake up a little sore. She wouldn't have it any other way though. She was often underestimated because of her adorable appearance and her inherently tiny physique did not help. Bringing bigger and more brutish pokémon to their knees was one of the few pleasures in her life and anything that helped enable that was a good thing in her book.

She let out a deep breath, and slowly released her hold on the element. Unlike Icy Wind, which involved compressing some of the surrounding air, using the Ice element to supercool it, and then guide it to the opponent in a concentrated burst of wind, Mist was based on a completely different technique. Mawile slowly allowed her ice to saturate into the atmosphere around her, feeling a dull-white fog engulf her surroundings.

_Nicely done_, she told herself. Now to create a clone. This would be easy. She got this. The misty air to her left flickered, as an optical image resembling herself, came into focus.

_Yes. _Mawile inwardly squealed—

Only for the atmosphere to condense a little, before flakes of snow began to precipitate on her head.

Red drooped his shoulders. "I guess this didn't work out either. At ease."

Mawile sighed, before letting out a tiny scream in frustration.

"I know, I know, you're trying your best. But, Mist is not the same as Icy Wind. You cannot control it the same way as you do the wind."

Mawile arched an eyebrow. Did Red really just claim that he knew more about ice and snow than herself? She was practically raised in it.

"Just try and listen okay, before jumping to conclusions." Red returned, recognizing the dry stare in her expression. "Mist is not related to Icy Wind in any fashion other than them both being of the ice-type. If it did, then I wouldn't have gotten you this TM. I'd have allowed you to perfect Icy Wind and Hail, and move to it through natural progression."

Which come to think of it, Mawile decided, did kind of make sense. Besides, her Icy Wind was getting closer to Hail with every single day of the new training regimen. She could almost focus on creating tiny shards of ice, instead of the usual super-chilled air that she sent out every single time. It still wasn't anywhere perfect, but she estimated that another week's practice should get it done.

"Increase in concentration and compression of ice while keeping the spread even, leads to progression from Icy Wind to Hail, or perhaps even Blizzard with enough exposure and experience. Canceling out the spread while increasing concentration and compression results in Ice Shard, which can be honed into an Icicle Spear with better shape manipulation. If both the ice concentration and the pressure are increased in the absence of wind while simultaneously not allowing the ice element to solidify until it hits a target, you get Ice Beam." Red pointed out."Do you find Mist in any of that?"

Mawile shook her head.

"To be frank, even though most of those moves can be built up from Icy Wind, I'd still get you TMs to save time and energy. You wouldn't have to waste time figuring out the perfect pressure or concentration conditions required for each move. Why reinvent the wheel right?"

Mawile sighed. Her trainer was full of silly little sayings like this. Why would she want to make a wheel? He reminded her of Mabel. Come to think about it, that Oak man she was with was like that too. Maybe Red picked it up from him? She'd have to keep a close eye on who her trainer associated with to ensure he didn't pick up any more bad habits.

"Focus, Mawile" Red groaned."Getting back on topic, to use Mist, you need to disperse the ice in all directions, and maintain a constant saturation at all points within a certain zone. You need to make the air heavy with water and ice, making it so thick that your opponent can't see past it."

Too right, and neither would she. As if she needed a vision impairment in addition to her ludicrously small size.

Red sighed. "Mawile, I know that creating mist will also affect your own vision, but you are small, and thus, easily able to hide and attack in the mist with enough practice. A large, bulky opponent is a walking target regardless of the Mist."

And once again he made sense. Mawile shook her head. She might as well give up trying to comprehend Red's sense of strategy. It only ever made sense after he explained it.

"Double Team is a move used to confuse the opponent. If they cannot find the real you, they have to use an area-of-effect attack to try to target all illusions simultaneously. If they don't have such a move they can end up wasting a lot of energy going through your illusions. Time you can use to end the fight."

Mawile nodded. She knew this. Why were they going over it again?

"So why am I asking you to make a single illusion alone?"

And there he went with the questions. These conversations would go much faster if he just gave her the answers.

"The reason is," Red continued, "because I want to use it in an unconventional way. A move is most effective if the opponent does not know it is being used. If the opponent sees multiple illusions in the mist they will automatically realize Double Team is being used and use an Area of Effect attack to disperse it. Further, they will be on guard for a sneak attack from the real one"

Mawile nodded. That made sense. Though she failed to see what was wrong with that. Making the opponent split their attention and wasting their energy on illusions was a good thing right?

"However if you make a single illusion and then hide your real body in the mist, they will assume the single illusion is the real you. As there are no other illusions they will not realize that Double Team is being used. As they believe they have located you in the mist they will not be on guard for a sneak attack. And then… then is when you will strike."

Mawile's steel jaw shook with an unnatural eagerness, surprising her. Lately, her jaw seemed to be developing a mind of its own.

"So, do you get why are we doing this?"

Mawile nodded excitedly. Now that Red explained it she couldn't wait to get started. She hadn't realized how important these tactics were until her trainer explained them. With another nod, she began her next attempt.

_If she can master the Mist, then with her Snow Cloak ability, she will be practically invisible. And with a Double Team clone present…_

Red gazed at her. "Let's begin then."

Mawile chirped agreeably.

"Alright, Day 6, Trial 48," He spoke into the pokédex. "Let's give it another try and do your best not to let the Mist disperse. Remember, concentrate on spreading it out evenly." He switched off the recorder. "If you get it right this time, there are two extra poképuffs for you at lunch."

* * *

Ever since his initial conversation with Oak regarding pokémon psychology as well as the merits and demerits of independent battling, Red seemed to have acquired a change in his short-term goals. The unfortunate incident with the pikachu had set him back by at least a month, so the obvious plan had been to move from city to city, acquiring badges as quickly as possible. However, on second thoughts regarding the subject, especially after a detailed study of the gyms and the Kanto-Johto region in general, he had concluded that a period of four to five months was easily enough to acquire eight gym badges and apply for the next conference. The next Indigo Conference was roughly three months away. The conferences being spaced roughly eight months apart meant that he could only participate in the Silver Conference, nearly a year later.

More than enough time in his hands to train at his own pace.

Which was why he had given up on his previous plan of leaving for Pewter City, and instead focussed on the immediately available option— the Trainer Square. For the past week, he would wake up early in the morning, and after a quick breakfast, take Mawile to the Square to fight other rookie trainers with increasing difficulty after every successive match. Considering her semi-average reserves and stamina, Mawile didn't have the ability to drag out a fight. In fact, a lot of Reds training involved using small openings to end the fight as quickly as possible. Mawile was very vulnerable to simply losing through exhaustion if the opponent tried to drag the fight which was why, most matches she won were incredibly fast-paced, usually finishing in a matter of seconds. In most cases, either Mawile came out with a decisive victory, or she'd display signs of fatigue, and Red would forfeit— the latter being a much rarer occurrence compared to the former. After spending an hour so at the Square, Red would take an exhausted Mawile to the Pokémon Center, and after a quick check-up they would enjoy a happy lunch by the side of the river. After a couple of hours of rest, they would start training. Over the past few days, they had been studying type advantages and disadvantages, as well as perfecting Thunder Wave and Mist.

On his fifth day at the Square, Red had been selected by Cory for one of the local challenges offered by the spectators, or should one say, speculators and risk-takers who would bet on the trainers while enjoying popcorn and drinks from their seats. Mawile had fought a difficult match against a rather dangerous doduo, where she had been entirely too focused on its number of heads. Once she managed to focus though, she had managed to interrupt its continuous attacks with an Icy Wind to the face after which she rendered it immobile before ending the fight with Iron Head. Though she managed to win, she had used entirely too much energy and had lost pitifully to the next pokémon, a fairly large pidgeotto. Of course, Mawile being Mawile, she had made several attempts to use Thunder Wave, but her reserves had died down much before her determination, resulting in what she considered, a humiliating defeat. Red had been hoping that Mawile would realize she couldn't win while she was exhausted and would give up on her own, but Mawile had been drunk on her victory and far too excited to stop. At least, he supposed, she was starting to be more efficient with her moves. That was something at least.

Red had redeemed his Battle Points for two low-tier TM vouchers, using one to acquire a TM for Mist, while keeping the other on hold for the future. Perhaps in Pewter, when Mawile had mastered her present move set.

_She has a strong grasp on Icy Wind, Iron Head, and Fairy Wind. Her Astonish is fairly good, but she takes too long to prepare for it. _Red mused. _She uses her fangs quite effectively but needs to learn how to employ Dark energy with it to use Bite properly. Perhaps in time, she can even acquire enough familiarity with it to utilize its higher form-Crunch._

He couldn't wait for it to happen. After all, Crunch was one of the most effective fanged attacks in the Pokémon world. Being a dark-type move only added to its appeal. For someone like Mawile, whose main weapon was her set of vicious jaws, Crunch was the perfect move to use. Her Fairy nature allowed enough leniency to use it effectively, even if it wouldn't be with the ease and perfection of an actual dark-type.

Icy Wind was next. Because of her parentage and her habitat, Mawile was extremely familiar with the Ice Element. Every demonstration of the move only reinforced the idea in his mind. Her Icy Wind was already close to reaching a low-level Hail. Red could easily see Mawile mastering Hail by the next two months, perhaps less if she was being diligent. And as a Fairy, Mawile's affinity to moves like Fairy Wind was extremely high and her mastery grew quickly.

Unfortunately developing these moves into their strongest forms like Blizzard or Moonblast was… close to impossible. Blizzard tended to tire out even the more powerful dewgong. A powerful Moonblast could send a trained clefable, rare as they were, almost out of commission, unless it had enough stamina to overcome the sheer exhaustion that accompanied it. Such moves were highly energy-intensive, and significant reserves were needed to utilize them efficiently.

And Mawile had neither the reserves nor the stamina to perform such moves. This was a huge limiting factor that impeded her use of several attacks. Mawile's fairy-steel nature made her highly resistant to most typings, but once again, her lack of stamina and reserves prevented her from the complete utilization of her techniques even though her execution was superlative. One thing that she was doing was reducing the effective area of the move. Mawile maintained most of Icy Wind's strength by releasing it in short targeted bursts rather than allowing it to cover the entire field. Of course, this had the disadvantage of being less accurate, as well as the limitation of impacting a smaller area but it at the very least allowed it to be threatening in battle without draining her entire reserves for a single move.

On the other hand, Red couldn't think of a single thing that he could be improved on Iron Head. Mawile had it down, period. What mattered now was to use the offensive move in defense, and develop a familiarity with one of the ultimate steel-type defensive techniques.

Iron Defense.

Unlike Iron Head, Iron Defense did not simply converge steel-energy over her head to increase the effectiveness of the attack. Instead, it spread it out, creating a layer of woven steel-energy over itself to create a powerful barrier. Furthermore, Iron Defence could be continuously layered on top of itself depending on how much steel energy was used. This made it one of the strongest defenses possible, one that was capable of holding back almost any attack in the right conditions. He hadn't started out on her training Iron Defense yet, but given her partly-steel nature, he hypothesized that it wouldn't be too difficult.

_Perhaps I should start looking into it after she's had Mist down._

Speaking of Mist, Red glanced at Mawile. Though she could be lazy at times, she was actually putting in a lot of effort to master her new move. He recognized the sheen in her eyes. It was exactly the same look that she had before she had made significant progress with Thunder Wave and Double Team.

…

…

_Make that just Thunder Wave. Mawile seems completely unable to create more than four clones for some reason._

It was almost surreal. As a Fairy, Mawile had enough intrinsic energy to use something so simple like Double Team very easily. However, no matter what she did, the number of clones did not rise beyond four. There were rare moments when it hit five, but then one of them would pop like a bubble.

It would have been incredibly funny since even Shellder was now creating six or seven with ease, but Mawile was a prideful little thing and him pointing it out would probably be too much for her to bear. Speaking of which….

He cast a glance at the bivalve pokémon, who was engrossed in his own experiment with Double Team and experimenting with said clones.

…

…

_Wait, what?_

* * *

Shellder had lived its entire life in water, chewing on underwater plants and occasionally sucking in some sap. Sometimes, it would even get lucky and come across a magikarp egg— well, the smaller ones anyway, since those were the ones that could even fit into Shellder's mouth. Not that it mattered much since Shellder rarely got hungry.

Then, he got himself a new thing to chew on. Or well, a new human who allowed him to chew on him anyway. Shellder wasn't a genius, but from what he saw, Red didn't chew on plants like Shellder did, which was strange considering the perfectly good supply that grew out of his own head. Perhaps humans did not know how to chew on their own hair? Or maybe he didn't like how it tasted. Regardless, humans couldn't understand pokémon so he wouldn't be able to ask.

Maybe that's why Red let Shellder chew on his head and fingers? Because there were too many humans and no one to chew on their hair? Shellder wondered what the shellder population on the river bed would think of that news. Humans did talk a lot and liked to hear their own voice, or at least, Red did. He spent an awful lot of time talking about Shellder like he was more shellder than Shellder was shellder.

How odd. Red didn't even have a shell. Shellder had _two _of them. Red did have two eyeballs and a tongue though. Perhaps Red kept talking all that much because he hoped that doing that would get him a shell?

It was a possibility. Shellder didn't exactly know much about Humans anyway.

He considered the present situation carefully. _The present experiment. _Shellder corrected.

He focused his energy according to the strange memories that had popped into it the other day and the Double Team clone slowly gained form in front of it.

Shellder paused as it observed the illusion take form. He didn't know exactly how he did it, but that was not the point. Why bother knowing the hows when he could just wish things into existence? Shellder wanted the clone, and it came. That was all to it. There was no reason to waste precious time on meaningless questions.

It carefully extended its tongue outwards, attempting to lick the illusion in front of it, before it felt its tongue hit something like air, which flickered momentarily, before reforming back the moment it retracted its tongue. Interesting. Did that mean Shellder was able to create more Shellder out of air by simply wishing for it?

No. more experimentation was needed before Shellder could determine the Shellder-ness of these… illusory prototypes. It would not do to have a Shellder that was less Shellder-y than Shellder himself. Yes, this one was a waste. Perhaps Shellder needed to try again.

Poising up all of a sudden, Shellder leaped onto its illusion, clamping it with its fearsome valves. For a moment, Shellder thought that it would be able to find out how these air-made shellder tasted. Maybe if they were good enough, Shellder could make more of them just to keep eating them. It did sound like a good hobby.

CLAMP!

Unfortunately, the airy Shellder dissipated instantly. Strange. Were these airy shellder so un-shellder-y that they broke away so easily? What about the taste? Or would they taste like air because they were made from air? This would require further thinking upon.

Shellder blinked. Research was an exhaustive process. Perhaps Shellder wasn't cut out to be a scientist. Only time would tell.

* * *

Another hour had passed since Mawile had started practicing her newest move, _Mist, _with extreme diligence. Unlike Icy Wind, Mist did not require large quantities of the Ice Element to be conjured. Almost one-eighth of the amount of Ice summoned for the Icy Wind attack was enough to create a passable Mist. All she had to do was to saturate the air to superlative degrees. And she was finally getting a hang out of it.

That did not stop it from being tiresome. Especially considering the fact that Red had asked her to hold and maintain a clone, all the while maintaining the Mist in place. Seven attempts and forty-eight minutes later, Mawile stood on the now completely drenched grass, happy in her belief at having conquered her newest challenge.

_Do you think you can do it this time? _Red's voice whispered in her mind. Of course, he wasn't truly whispering, but after hearing the same words over and over for nearly a week, her mind had begun to conjure images and words related to her trainer's more… common habits.

_All right._

She closed her eyes, nearly crouching on the ground, taking a little support from the earth beneath her feet, as she gathered up the Ice element conjured by her powers. She felt the atmosphere around her churn a little, felt the Ice slowly leaving, dissipating, filtering into the environment. Saturating into the air molecules, making them heavy, decreasing the visibility all around her.

Mist had taken effect, and in the middle of it all, Mawile was _invisible._

_And now the second part._

She opened her eyes and allowed her awareness to spread out. All this time she had done so with her eyes closed, almost in fear of seeing a fuzzy clone that would fade away immediately. It had taken her nearly a week to get used to it. It still felt bad, but she had learned to face it. Embrace it. Learn from it. Get past it.

A hazy figure manifested in front of her before flickering and started to fade. She took a deep breath and concentrated. The still deformed illusory form began to churn a second time, before coming back together—

Mawile's eyes widened.

It looked perfect! It even moved. _RED! RED! ARE YOU SEEING THIS?_

_How was she doing it? _She was holding onto Mist quite easily and not only had the illusion formed, but she was able to manipulate it. It was moving around! What sorcery was this?

_I finally did it! Praise me! _Mawile squealed, turning to look at Red. Surely he noticed her remarkable progress by now, and there would be a higher number of poképuffs for dinner. So what if the mute could make more clones than her? She was the more agile one among them, and she was the one who was winning matches for him. Obviously, her own progress should be three times more significant than the mute and—

Her expectations came down to a screaming halt.

"...wile." She croaked, heart-broken.

_Why is he-he-why is he staring at that dumb thing?_

It was true. At some point during their training, Red had shifted his glances from Mawile's spectacular efforts to watching the bivalve pokémon amuse itself with its pathetic clones. That thing didn't speak, didn't contribute, didn't do anything except hanging around like a nuisance, preying upon Red's unquestionable naivety and generosity. She would not stand it for a moment longer.

Mawile didn't think. She took long steps until she was right in front of her trainer. Without waiting for her human to speak, she met his gaze and released Mist in full power. Taking advantage of the visual impairment, she slammed her jaw at Shellder's side with extreme prejudice, sending the water-type flying high up into the sky.

_Good riddance._ Mawile thought smugly.

Had Mawile been slightly less hasty about it, she would have realized that she had, in her haste, slammed Shellder at the base of its shell, sending it flying straight up. The water-type zoomed all the way, past ten feet, then thirteen feet, and then slowly lost its velocity before the power of gravity pulled it downward, landing on the wet grass with a soft thud.

Right where it was sitting before the above happened. Directly behind Mawile.

"That was really good progress, Mawile. It was almost instantaneous, wasn't it?" Red exclaimed as the Mist cleared up.

Mawile preened. Yes, the mute was gone, and now she could bask in her trainer's undivided attention to the fullest.

"See, even Shellder thinks you did well."

"..."

"..."

Mawile had never really been exposed to ghost-types in her life so far. She had heard of a froslass residing in the higher reaches of Pomace Mountain but had never made any attempt to see it in person. Besides, froslass were scarily vindictive and even more sadistic. Mawile liked living, thank you very much.

That said, the way her face paled on seeing Shellder sitting right where it had been, almost as if she had not slammed it away in the first place, made it seem like she had been hit by an Astonish or even worse.

Shellder slowly extended its tongue, and licked her face.

Mawile blinked.

…

_This… This evil little creature was mocking her. She was being shown down, was being ignored, and it was all because of this bivalved little… And not even her ever-precise Iron Head seemed to make it disappear._

Shellder licked her again.

A slow, desperate sob somehow escaped her throat. No, she wouldn't. She wouldn't give up. She won't show her weakness in front of this… this…

Mawile started to cry.

* * *

**The next day**

"I'm not exactly sure I understand what this is about," admitted a wary Red to an overly-enthusiastic Cory. The chestnut-haired guy had grown to become a friendly acquaintance, with his contagious excitement pouring off him, and his way of ensuring that one didn't feel overly out of place in the arena. Ever since he and Mawile had defeated Neesha, and started his first winning streak, Cory had been only too happy to introduce him to more challenging trainers with every passing day.

"Think of the glory, my man." Cory put his left hand on Red's shoulder. "You've got a nice little streak going on, ever since you entered this place."

"What's so special about that? Dozens of other trainers probably do that every day." Red refuted.

"That may be, Mr. Insufferable," Cory chuckled, "but dozens of those trainers don't fight over and over with a single pokémon. Especially not with a cutie like that." He waggled his eyebrows at Mawile. "Speaking of which," he snuck out a packet of poképuffs from his back pocket and handed it to her. "Come on, take it. I know how much you love 'em."

"Mawwwww…." Mawile replied cutely, her charm active in full force.

Red rolled his eyes.

"So what do you say, do you think you have what it takes?"

Mawile puffed up her chest at that.

Red sighed. "Fine. Tell me what this '_once-in-a-month-holy-shit' _challenge is all about."

Cory grinned. "Well, if you're asking me that much, I might as well..." He ignored the eye roll directed at him. "See, there's this trainer named Ashley in Arena 2, and from what I'm told, she's been to the League Conferences twice." Confident that he held Red's attention, Cory continued. "However, she has this habit of only bringing her starter with her every time she comes to a new region, while the rest of her team is caught and trained after that."

"Huh? Why would anyone do that? Wouldn't training her original team be more effective?"

Cory shrugged. "Beats me. The point is, only her starter is a high-level pokémon. Everyone else is fresh."

Red wasn't sure if he liked the adjective, but ignored the point. "So why are you telling me all this?"

Cory groaned. "Use your head. She's been to several conferences. The speculators are going crazy over her trainer level and experience, especially since her team is brand new. She hasn't earned a single badge in Kanto, just like you. A battle between someone like her, and someone like you, will create odds like you've never seen before. "

"Wait a second!" Red replied, slightly flustered. "You want _me, _a zero-badge rookie, to fight someone who's been to Conferences? And you even imagine that I'd win?"

"Yea?"

"Why don't you go home and get some sleep. All this betting is screwing with your head."

"Bah! Sleep is for the weak. The money, man, the money. If you agree to this and win, I'll be rich enough to set up a tiny betting pool by myself!"

Red arched an eyebrow. "So I gotta put my pokémon at risk, simply because you think that I can somehow manage to defeat her?"

"Why not? It's not like she uses her old pokémon. They aren't very experienced."

"She's been to Conferences. Multiple Times. Her pokémon's experience doesn't matter."

"Come on," Cory begged, "What do you have to lose?"

"Of course I do, I—" Red stopped midway. It was a sound question. What did he have to lose? Losing would be the obvious result, no harm there. But _if _he won….

"How much are the odds?"

"Three to One, if you win."

"I want part of your winnings."

"Ah, now we're talking. How much?"

"...Half!"

"..."

Red matched his stupor with a deadpan stare.

"..."

"I can always just walk out."

"Wait," Cory interrupted. "Twenty percent. I'm also taking the risk of you losing."

" Forty." Red bartered. "And my team is whats taking the damage."

"Twenty-five." Cory countered. "And you're forgetting something else. There's the Battle Points to count."

Red arched an eyebrow. "How many?"

"Two hundred. You have what? Seventy at hand? If you win, you could grab the—"

"The weekend jackpot." Red breathed hard.

The weekend jackpot was yet another incentive offered by the Square. For rookies, one had to acquire five hundred points to qualify for it, and on an average, there was a single winner every two or three months who passed that barrier. The winner was supposed to receive a rare, non-Kanto native pokémon from the square.

"So… what do you think?"

"I think…" Red let out a tiny smirk. "That I might as well see how good a conference trainer is, first-hand."

"Now you're speaking my language." Cory grinned shamelessly.

* * *

Unlike the constantly frequented Arena 3, Arena 2 was still a bit of uncharted ground for Red. Most battles amongst Rookie trainers, which tended to be limited to zero-badgers to three-badgers at the most, were held in Arena 3, where he fought daily. In a similar fashion, the intermediate and elite-level trainers frequented the Arena 1 for the same purpose. Arena 2, the giant one in the middle, was used for the exclusive purpose of speculating and betting. Unlike the other three arenas, it had a single battleground in it and was surrounded by a richly furnished seating area for people to sit and speculate over the ongoing battle.

And this was where he was going to fight his first public battle. At the very least, his first battle in an arena with large crowds surrounding him. He felt like he was surrounded by invisible eyes, staring at him, judging him, trying to measure his value. Almost as if he was an object.

He glanced at the people seated up there. There were people to the left, and even more to the right. From the endless whispers, he presumed that there were several behind him as well. And all of them were cheering.

Not for him, but for the conference-returned trainer.

He had fallen into the temptation to get his hands on a rare, non-Kanto native, never seeing the trap he had fallen into. This wasn't an opportunity. This was… a show. A show where an experienced trainer would triumph as expected, while the rookie '_braggart', _would suffer a humiliating defeat. And these people were here to enjoy that humiliation. The 'prize' as Cory put it, was merely the carrot dangled before him— not because he deserved it, but because he had been the one who succumbed to it in the end.

He felt like slapping himself.

_Forgive me… _He thought sadly. Mawile did not deserve this. But stepping back was not an option. Stepping back would only prove their assumptions right. Prove that he was an over-ambitious rookie who'd bitten off more than he could chew. Prove that he was the very person they expected him to be. And this… trainer, she'd show off her power as an experienced trainer by demolishing him.

'_One of the easiest expressions of power is to crush the powerless."_ Oak used to say. Red had heard it several times, but the true horror of the statement only dawned on him now.

_Well, so be it._

The battleground in front of him was easily a dozen yards in diameter, if not more, and he was talking about the inner circle where the two battlers would be standing. There were two elevated podiums on either end for the two trainers to stand on, a significant distance away from their respective pokémon. He was provided with a headset, which would allow him to both communicate with his pokémon, and allow the crowds to hear his every command— _or my hysteria —_he mused. There was also a large screen on the left that showcased the still-empty battleground.

A redheaded girl, possibly taller than him, walked up and stood on the podium on the other side. She wore a kind of crimson robe, or something along those lines. Either way, it was clearly not a style of dressing native to Kanto, so he assumed that it would be something related to her homeland's fashion styles.

_This is Ashley Meyers. _Red mused. He had been told about the other trainer's name, and nothing else, apart from what Cory had informed him earlier. _This is a trainer who's fought at a Conference._

"This will be one on one battle. No items allowed. The last pokémon standing will be declared the winner." A formally-dressed man, whom Red presumed was the referee, declared in a monotone. "Challengers, release your pokémon."

Ashley smirked, before plucking out her pokéball from the depths of her robe. Throwing it out in a rather extravagant display, she yelled, "Ursaring, I choose you."

The pokémon that appeared on stage looked like a massive bear, with several interwoven layers of fur on its shoulders, giving the appearance of thick plates of armor. From the large, pointed claws protruding from its palms, Red mused that getting into close-combat with this pokémon would be certain death unless you were fast enough. Ursaring weren't very common in Kanto, which made him wonder if this was actually one of her older ones.

"Don't panic, _challenger._ This is not one of my earlier ones." Ashley spoke up as if reading his mind. "I want to be a pokémon master and cheating my way through rookies will not help me with that goal."

Red arched an eyebrow. _And yet here we are. Is pokémon master a position one gets by crushing rookies?_

Ashley however, was still on her monologue. "I caught him as a Tediursa on the Seafoam Islands. He was close to evolution, which is why you get to face him in all his glory. I wouldn't make the mistake of underestimating him."

Oh, he wouldn't. Red inwardly promised. Ursaring had massive physical strength, and one good attack could cause Mawile some serious damage. It was their somewhat slow speed that kept them from demolishing opponents with brute force alone. That being said, this was an ursaring trained by a conference participant.

_And it's long arms give it a huge reach. It will be difficult for Mawile to outrun it._

Red stared at the creature in front of him. It was larger than Mawile. It had bigger reserves than her. It its long arms ensured it a longer reach. And it was trained by a more experienced trainer. How did you defeat such a thing?

He plucked out Mawile's pokéball, and without any extravaganza, simply released her. Mawile appeared on the ground, shaking her head to throw off the effects of the suppressive forces within the device. She wasn't a fan of those ball thingies and would likely never be.

Then her eyes met Ursaring's enormous form.

_...shit._

Never in her life had Mawile thought she'd curse her weakness to poképuffs. That clever imp had gotten better of her by waving them like a carrot, and she had fallen for it.

_Bad mistake._

"Mawile," Red replied, "do what you do best."

The audience translated his words as telling the deceiver pokémon to play to her strengths and do her best. For Mawile, it meant something entirely different.

_Red was telling her to cheat._

"Wile!" She nodded briskly, before meeting Ursaring's eyes.

Without any preamble, Ursaring let out a _roar _and stomped its way towards Mawile, who looked like she wanted to be anywhere but in this tournament. Had she really just sacrificed her life for a packet of poképuffs? What was she thinking?

"Mawile, focus," Red spoke from his podium, his voice loud and clear.

"The moment Mawile met his eyes, the match was over," Ashley said with a tone of finality. "Ursaring are notorious for their pride. Looking at them in the eye is enough to signal a challenge to their authority and power." She paused. "They respond to it through open confrontation."

_Right. _Red almost paled. _Focus. _He told himself, glancing at Mawile. He only hoped that her inexperience wouldn't stop her from making the correct decisions during battle. 'Mawile, evasion."

That last bit was enough to bring Mawile back into the battle. Red was issuing orders, but he wasn't supposed to do so. It was her job. Did he think that she couldn't even deal with this uncouth beast by herself?

_I'll show him._

Ursaring rushed towards her, its claws bared and ready to strike. It quickly crossed the distance between them, half-crouched and slashed its vicious claws right through Mawile's body.

Mawile stood still.

For a moment, it felt like the little fairy would die an agonizing death, but instead of droplets of blood that should have slowly oozed out of the wound, the ivory fur flickered, before her entire form dissipated out of existence. And just two steps away, the real Mawile stood, smirking at the perfect execution of her deceptive technique.

_Brilliantly done. _Red mused from where he stood. _She formed a clone in less than half a second and leapt back seamlessly allowing the ursaring to think that Mawile was her illusion. _Somehow the initial fear of humiliation was slowly losing its hold on him, and Mawile's ability to get the better of her opponent was sending jolts of adrenaline down his spine.

_Yes, we can do it._

Ursaring looked up, slightly confused, before spotting the real Mawile. A part of its mind pointed out that it had been deceived, causing it to howl in greater fury.

"Get in close and use Fury Swipes. We'll see just how long it can evade your claws." Ashley commanded, her jaw clenched at the semi-casual way in which the Mawile had gained an edge over the battle. Double-Team was something that was commonly used as a trick to hide the real attack, but using it like this…

It was both interesting, and troubling, at the same time.

Ursaring let out another roar, but before it could do anything, a near-impenetrable mist diffused all over the battleground, enveloping everything inside it. Ursaring as a species, never really boasted perfect vision, since they were first and foremost, direct combatants, and had no use of long-ranged techniques, except for the older and more powerful members of their species which could learn the overly destructive and incredibly taxing Hyper Beam. The mist had created a zone of extreme translucence, which for Ursaring, might as well be pure white.

_Finally. _Red watched through gritted teeth. At least this would give Mawile some breathing room.

Ursaring kept swinging its massive blows all around itself, charging blindly into the mist. As a species, ursaring had a strong sense of smell, but at such close proximity, olfactory senses weren't that effective. With Mawile's small stature and the Mist enveloping the ground, she might as well be invisible.

SLAM!

A chunk of impenetrable steel slammed into its right thigh from the rear, causing Ursaring to double down in pain, as its knee gave away. It tried to slice the attacker with its claws with a sharp, right swing, but Mawile had moved out of its reach.

_Why doesn't he say anything? Is he somehow communicating with her through his mind? _Ashley wondered in frustration. As a veteran, she was used to listening to the opponent's commands, analyzing their effects and then changing tactics appropriately. This trainer— Red something, seemed perfectly fine to stand still and allow this pokémon— a Mawile, she had recognized, to battle by itself. Perhaps this Mawile had a psychic parent or something? Was that how it developed enough of a psychic constitution to accept orders mentally? What the _HELL _was going on?

"Aren't you going to issue commands?" She goaded. "Or do you somehow think that your pokémon can just win by itself? Are you just that lacking in skill?"

"You seem to have trouble dealing with my pokémon's… instincts. What do you have to complain about?" Red fired back, before shifting his gaze back to the ongoing battle. This kind of aggression technique might have triggered a response in other rookie trainers, He had too much experience with Gary Oa_k _for this to affect him.

_Maybe I can send him a greetings card for that. _He wondered in amusement.

"Fine. So be it. Ursaring, use Stomping Tantrum."

Red blinked. He had never really heard of that move before this. Then again, considering the vast number of moves available, it was not expected of him to know each and every one of them. And even if he did know them all, there was always the possibility that a trainer might use a Move Tutor or something original that he created from scratch. Therefore, the correct idea was to analyze what it did and then try to create a counter for it.

_Let's see if Mawile can find her way through this. Worst comes to worst, she'd need help, and if I am unable to find a solution, we'll accept defeat._

Ursaring let out a growl, as its body seemed to undergo some kind of inner restructuring. It looked larger, wilder, and more and more like a thrashing primeape in the middle of one of its classic rages. Its eyes had gone all wild, its pupils dilated, and its entire body shaking with frenzy. It retracted its claws, before slamming its palms and its left knee onto the ground, raising dust and debris from its constant hammering.

Then its hands began going all crazy, and so did its legs.

_It looks like the use of forced, periodic vibrations to develop a form of resonance with the ground_. Red mused. _Almost like Magnitude, but the vibrations are controlled and limited to the surface of the surrounding land. Reminds me of a nidoking's Rampage, only the effects are limited to the surface. And it seems to be combined with ..Thrash._

He almost chuckled, what with the way Ursaring reminded him of a magikarp. A large, furry, overgrown magikarp, and yet, it was working. As long as this… Stomping Tantrum continued, Mawile couldn't get near Ursaring, and thus, brought the situation to a stalemate. _What an interesting Move Tutor._

He had to admit, it was a perfect counter to its present situation. It was down on the ground, and the Mist was the perfect cover for now, in a completely different fashion, Ursaring was using the vibrating ground as a cover for itself. If the Mist died down, Mawile would be a sitting duck, and if Ursaring ran out of stamina, he'd be brought down to a humiliating defeat.

The problem was, Ursaring had larger reserves than Mawile.

_And just like that, _Red frowned, _Ashley's got me. This is what it means to fight an experienced trainer._

It was difficult, but it was brilliant. So this was what it felt to have a real battle. But even so, despite the thrill, Red couldn't help but feel that it was too easy_. _He was a rookie, he should have been taken out easily. And yet, he had gained some measure of dominance against the other trainer. For as long as that lasted anyway.

"Your mawile won't be able to fight her way out of this one. No plan survives the enemy." Ashley remarked.

_True. _Red nodded. _But I didn't make one._

* * *

Mawile considered the scenario. From the very start, she had taken command of the situation, using deception to lure her opponent into the position she wanted it to be, before tricking her way out. Just like Red had taught her, she had utilized the Mist to create a perfect cover, before striking at the most effective position.

"_When facing a large bulky opponent, always aim for the legs. Bring it down to your size."_

She had done exactly the same. The hit on the thigh had brought it down, and the ideal thing would have been to repeatedly hit again before the Ursaring could manage to retaliate. But Mawile had started to enjoy it. The thrill of bringing down something so massive, had filled her with a sense of animalistic pride. Unfortunately, she got a bit too lost in the electrifying feeling of being the hunter and her battle-lust had superseded her pragmatism. Instead of falling back and using blitz tactics along with area-of-effect techniques like Thunder Wave and Icy Wind like they had gone over, she had repeatedly gone forward and then slipped back into the mist, to intimidate her opponent.

It was a stupid thing to do. But Mawile was enjoying it too much. A little _too _much.

That, as it turned out, had been her mistake. Both Ursaring and her trainer had already seen the move and were prepared to counter it.

_Never be predictable._ Red's voice rang in her head. _Since I'm not issuing orders, as long as you cycle through your move pool, it's very hard for the other trainers to figure out what you'll do next. Take advantage of this._

And now, Ursaring had her in a stalemate. Of course, he was still grounded, but he was just as safe from her. Even attempting to get close enough for a strike would leave her open to multiple strikes.

_Fairy Wind? Not powerful enough. The rising debris would deflect it away._

_Icy Wind… _Mawile looked at the interwoven fur. _Hardly._

_Iron Head would be effective, but one hit from those rocks-wait, rocks?_

It was true. The consistent hammering on the ground had begun to cause forced vibrations on the surface, causing rocks and tiny boulders to jump out of the crest and fall all over the place, away from Ursaring, who still lay safe at the epicenter. Any attacker coming in for close-combat would have to face them first.

Mawile smirked. She could work with this.

* * *

Ashley had been in two conferences ever since she had started our journey from Hoenn. With her starter-a rhyhorn whom she had christened Jerry, she had started out to become a Pokémon Master. With a team of six, as well as her starter, she had been placed 64th in the Ever-Grande Conference, a decent performance for someone in their first year as a trainer. After some weeks of rest back in her home in Little Root Town, she had decided to go for her next region-the snowy lands of Sinnoh. Wanting to have a fresh start, she had left behind her team, and started on her next journey, with just her starter. It took her another year, catching new pokémon and training them from scratch, and finally, she had gotten all eight badges, and this time, she had placed 31st.

Not losing hope, she had set out once again, this time to the forestlands of Kanto, to try her hand at the Indigo Circuit, once again with just her Jerry at her side. A visit to the Seafoam Islands had gotten her a rather mean tediursa, who had quickly evolved into a ferocious ursaring. She had expected that Trainer Square would be a good place to get her team into shape. Perhaps let it fight against some of the rookies and let it amass strength and confidence before she could pit it against her Rhydon.

She hadn't however, expected… this.

_Why doesn't he speak? He's not commanding his pokémon at all. How am I going to counter his strategy, when I don't even know what his next move is?_

Ashley glanced at Red's face and scowled again. The boy seemed relaxed and maintained a constant gaze at his mawile. What was happening? Just HOW many move combinations had he taught her? He was a rookie, from what she knew. It was not possible for him to have taught a m_awile _of all things, every possible move combination. She suppressed an urge to walk up to the trainer and smack him in the face.

_Focus. _She told herself_. He's just a rookie. How much could he have taught the little beast anyway?_

Stomping Tantrum might have changed the course of the battle, but it was a stalling tactic at best. If Mawile kept her distance, Stomping Tantrum would not affect her, especially with Ursaring being on the ground. And yet, it was also taking a lot out of Ursaring.

Ashley grit her teeth. How could she had even imagined that the little fairy knew _Mist _of all things? _No one even uses the damn move anymore._

_If this continues, that mawile just has to wait for Ursaring to exhaust himself. I need to figure out. _She glared at Red as if he were somehow to blame for it _If I use Rest, Mawile will simply attack head-on. If I continue, Mawile will stay away. The longer this goes on the more my disadvantage. I need to end this now._

"That Mawile can't hold Mist forever. The minute you see it, end it with Hammer Arm. "

That was when the surprise kicked in.

Out of the somewhat fading Mist, Mawile appeared, who let loose of her Fairy powers, whipping up a circular wind stream around herself. It took a while, but the fallen rocks and debris were lifted up by the Fairy Wind and were circling the Ursaring.

Ashley's eyes widened "No. Ursaring, get out of there."

It was easier said than done. With one thigh nearly squashed from the iron heads he had taken at the start of the fight, Ursaring was a sitting duck. The rocks and debris, no longer held up by the Fairy wind, came storming down onto the large bear, who tried to use his limbs to shield the rocks from hitting his face. The thick layers of fur prevented deep lacerations, but it was sure to have caused some superficial injuries.

Mawile sighed in exhaustion. Performing Fairy Wind on such a large scale had taken a toll on her. Energy attacks were always way too taxing for her. Luckily, because of her fairy nature, her affinity to fairy techniques was extremely high and her underpowered wind was still enough to do what she wanted it to. And now, Ursaring was injured, curled up on the ground, ready for her final attack.

And Mawile pounced, right beneath Ursaring's neck.

_Avoid what is strong, and strike at what is weak. _That was the strategy she had been trained in.

Her jaws, vicious as ever, bit into the soft flesh, past the multiple layers of fur. Steel would not be denied. Not by fur.

Steel would have its prey.

Ursaring let out a roar, but this time, in pain.

"Ashley," Red spoke for the first time, "I believe you should return your pokémon before Mawile injures it even further."

"Return? You mean forfeit? Never. Ursaring, get up. _I believe in you. _You can do it."

Mawile raised her jaw, and dug into Ursaring's back the second time, relishing in her own viciousness. It had been a taxing battle, and now she would not be denied her prey.

Ursaring groaned again.

"Mawile enough, it has lost. Let it go." Red instructed calmly, though there was an undercurrent of sternness in his voice. This was what the old professor had warned him about. If he did not put a halt to this now, it would cause him several complications later.

But Mawile would not let go. She would not be denied. Not after all this. All that training, all those hours of constant attrition, all of them led to this. She had won, and now she would consume her prey. She raised her jaw for the third time.

"Ursaring, return!" A shaky voice muttered, as Ursaring was enveloped in pale, red light before it was sucked into Ashley's pokéball— just in time, as Mawile's jaw hit solid ground. A single second of disorientation past before Mawile realized that her prey had been stolen from her, right in front of her eyes.

She glared at the podium and found the one creature that had done her wrong.

And Mawile let out a _roar._

"Mawile, return." Red sighed. Mawile was terribly small for a battler and in a world where a single attack from a larger opponent could cause her great injury, she couldn't afford to show mercy. However, there was a difference between being vicious in battle and attacking a fallen and helpless opponent. They would have to have words.

"It's over," Red muttered, before turning around and leaving the podium.

* * *

"I knew you could do it, my man. I just knew it." Cory exclaimed, hugging Red by the shoulder. "I could kiss you, you know."

"Spare me your excitement," Red muttered. Inwardly, he was confused at his quickly changing circumstances as well as towards his relation with Cory. The affable elder teen had always been someone he had taken for granted since he had been pretty clear with his situation from the start. _I help you to win, and I get paid for doing it. _It had been simple.

Now, it was not. Cory had deceived him into entering, what was practically a wolves' den. Though, Red mused that he was equally at fault for letting him get through to himself. He had been carried away at the prospect of winning the weekend jackpot, which reminded him—

"What about my money? How much did you win?"

Cory grinned shamelessly. "Thirty thousand for a ten-thousand bet."

"You were confident enough to bet ten-thousand on a rookie?" Red arched an eyebrow.

"Impressive, right?" Cory winked.

Red shook his head. Maybe he'd never understand what went through the other teen's mind. "So… I make seven and a half. That's what I get, right?"

"Of course." Cory gave him a wolfish grin, before pointing at the little device he always carried around with him. "Check your pokédex. I transferred the money as soon as you won."

_Is he just that insane, or— never mind. _"So… the jackpot...?"

"Yeah, but for that, you need to get down with me. The higher-ups told me that you can collect it from the basement."

"I didn't know this place had a basement," Red muttered while checking his pokédex. Just like Cory said, seven and a half thousand pokédollars had been transferred to his account. It almost made him forget how he had been manipulated earlier.

"Few do." Cory shrugged. "Anyway, I must say, that mawile of yours is a real deal. She'll grow up to be an awesome battler." He turned towards Red. "There is always the Weekend Prize next week. You are coming back, right?"

"Yes." Red lied.

"Good. Anyway, as I was saying. That mawile of yours is awesome. You're getting _noticed, _Red Ketchum. Usually, that's not a very good thing."

"What do you mean?" Red asked, inquisitive.

"Well, people who tend to get noticed either catch the tide and move up in our world. Or else, they are dragged down by rich and petty people who want to bend them to their wishes." He paused for a moment. "Your mawile for instance. She's a cutie, and a damn good battler. But she's vicious. If she ends up hurting the wrong person's pokémon... things could get bad kid. Take it from someone who's seen the world. There's only so long you can flirt with danger, before it starts to flirt back."

For a moment Red thought back about his experiences with Mawile at the forest— first with Ritchie, and then with the fearow. Then, he chuckled. "Mawile doesn't flirt with danger. She meets it head-on. And then swallows it whole."

Cory chortled at that. "Good answer, squirt. My bad, I meant to say Weekend Champion_. _I suppose it's time to collect your prize."

* * *

Once they traveled down to the ground floor, Cory pointed towards a set of stairs that went down into what he presumed was the basement. The Trainers Square had been a significant part of his journey here in Viridian, and while he had expected it to mold it into a better trainer, it had also taught him some of the harsh realities of life. He wondered which one had a deeper impact on him.

"What's happened to kids nowadays? Seriously, it's like talking with an old man. I thought that children were supposed to be little balls of energy, zipping around."

Red chuckled. He did know a little ball of energy. Her name was Mia and she was back at home. Probably dancing too now that he thought of it.

"Never mind me, I've always been the boring guy around the block."

"Better you than me." Cory shrugged. "Anyway, we are here. Just the left."

They deserted the stairs and turned towards the right, before finding himself at a dead-end. In front of him, there was a pedestal, with a single pokéball— _greatball, _he corrected —inside a glass case.

"A greatball? The pokémon is inside a greatball?"

"Obviously," Cory drawled. "You didn't think Trainer Square would give you a Caterpie, did you?"

Red ignored that, his mind reeling at the revelation. Greatballs were primarily used for capturing and storing large pokémon, who were either larger than ten feet in height, or were too strong to be kept in an ordinary pokéball. The mysteries of the technology eluded him, but the significance was pretty clear.

"A Pokémon fit for a greatball, unless…" His lips twisted in amusement, "It's actually a caterpie."

Cory arched an eyebrow in amusement. "Do you have any more theories you'd like to share or do you want to look at what's inside?"

"Here?"

"...right! Knew I was forgetting something." Cory pressed a button on the side.

"What the—?"

A steel door sprung behind Cory, trapping both of them inside a cubicle like zone, with the pedestal still being in its position. The ceiling spread open, as Red felt himself shoot upwards. Before he could get used to the sudden movement, it came to a stop, before the steel door dropped down, revealing—

"Welcome to the top floor. An awesome spot to reveal your newest addition. Isn't it?"

From what Red had seen, the Trainers Square wasn't that tall, but this elevator ride changed everything. It had to be some kind of skyscraper with a minimum of fifteen floors.

"We—where the hell are we?"

Cory grinned. "Never mind that. Just release it."

Red shook his head, not bothering to ask his insane companion any further questions. Besides, he too was growing impatient of waiting for it. Without further ado, he lifted up the greatball, and clicked on the button in the front, releasing the beast within.

The light expanded outward, giving the appearance of slender yet sharp wings with pointy edges, spread out in a ruffed-up fashion. The body expanded into two claws at the base and a long, slender neck that ended up with a long, pointed beak. The moment the light dissipated he witnessed the silver-grey form, the long, metallic neck with the characteristic red in the wings, and the triangular crest on the head. A loud squawk made its presence known, making Red step back, awestruck at the specimen in front of him, before raising its wings imperiously.

And then the beast let out a fearsome screech.

"A… skarmory?" Red breathed, his tone etched with disbelief. His mind, rendered blank for two seconds as he processed the grandeur of the terrifying creature in front of him before his excitement shook him awake. Almost on instinct, he raised his pokédex— ignoring the arched look that Skarmory gave him, and scanned it.

**Skarmory, the armor bird pokémon. Skarmory is entirely encased in hard, protective armor. This Pokémon flies at close to 190 mph. It slashes foes with its wings that possess swordlike cutting edges. Skarmory's steel wings become tattered and bashed in from repeated battles. Over time, the battered wings grow back completely, restoring the edges to their pristine state.**

"...Skar?"

Had it been any other pokémon, Red would probably have been more alert. However, there was something about the avian's expression that told him that it was more amused than anything. He calmly pocketed the Dex, before giving the avian his undivided attention.

"For a rookie, you seem to know quite a lot of pokémon." Cory observed. "And don't worry, pokémon bred and trained at our Ranches are pretty docile."

"I know—" he paused, before gazing at Skarmory a second time, "—she won't attack. Else, the moment I first looked in her eyes would have been my last. Trust me, I know from experience."

"...mor…" Skarmory was even folding back her wings into place.

"Really." Cory arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah." Red breathed. "Skarmory are Johto natives, and they are very, very fast. Their bodies are literally encased in steel. Its skin produces an organo-metallic alloy that holds within it, all the properties of steel, without its immense weight, allowing Skarmory to be quite light despite their rather heavy appearance. With its aerodynamic form and the sharp edges of its steel wings, skarmory are efficient aerial combatants and terrifying predators."

Even Skarmory tilted her head at that.

"Point taken," Cory muttered, blinking at the information he had just been fed with. "I'll just… allow you to mingle with each other, eh?"

"Yeah, back at the ranch, the old man worked with a skarmory once. But this one is really magnificent" Red swallowed, before turning towards the Skarmory.

"Uhm, hi. I'm Red."

"Skar!"

"Right, Skar. Well, nice to meet you."

"Skar!"

"So, I'm a trainer, and well, the Trainer Square gave me your greatball. I guess what I want to say is…"—_Well, it might be dangerous to tell Skarmory that I'm essentially its new owner. _Having Mawile out would be the safer option.

"Mor?" Skarmory continued to watch as Red plucked out another pokéball, wondering where this was going.

"Excuse me. Wait a second." He stepped back, before pressing the release button, allowing her out and—

"OH FUCKIT! MAWILE! DON'T BITE!"

But Mawile would not listen. She had been refused her prey, first by that other human, and then by Red. Obviously, using her steel jaw was out of the picture, but her frontal teeth were more than enough for the message to sink in.

Skarmory watched the entire thing with an amused expression. So this was her hoard. That was her master, and the little one was probably his companion so far. It seemed cute, which was probably why her master kept it along. Nevertheless, her master was part of her hoard, so the little creature was probably in it as well.

It would definitely be interesting.

Meanwhile, unaware of her thoughts, Red was finally able to get Mawile to stop biting into him. "Come on, we have a bigger issue at hand. Just look to your right."

Mawile did not care. Even if she'd be gifted with a basket of poképuffs, she'd have her revenge over her— _No wait, she'd get the poképuffs and then return back to —and what the hell was screeching over—_

"WILEMAWILE!" She yelped, rushing behind Red's jeans to save itself from the vicious avian.

Red sweatdropped.

"Skarmory is going to be our newest friend… probably. She _might _have some questions, probably about me. I guess you'd be the best to answer them." The cynical part of him casually commented that Mawile was probably irritated, and could easily just say something wrong intentionally, just to spite him, but he ruthlessly ignored that.

Skarmory screeched again, this time with an interrogative tone, her eyes meeting Mawile's.

"...wile!" Mawile muttered under her breath, before picking up some courage, and leaving the protective sheath that was her trainer's jeans, and bravely stepped out. Perhaps they could come to an arrangement that would end in her not being cut open and eaten?

The avian screeched again.

"...wile!" Mawile replied, this time letting out a sigh, before describing something rather animatedly. Red didn't exactly understand what it was, but it involved a lot of hand-signs, a lot of sighs and a lot of bright wide-eyed expressions. There were also several smirks thrown in, with a lot of dreamy-eyed looks. From what he could ascertain, nothing had yet gotten Skarmory to become aggressive.

_I wonder what they are talking about._

Skarmory squawked, and for a moment, Red felt that she was amused by something. Considering the frown on Mawile's face, they were probably disagreeing over something. He wondered if bringing Mawile out was a good idea or a bad one.

"WILE!" Mawile retorted at something with surprising aggression, causing Red to start worrying about their mutual safety. Then, Skarmory pushed herself into Red's personal space and clicked the greatball with her beak. With another flash of red light, Skarmory was back inside it.

"Well, that was anticlimactic," Red muttered. "What was that about, Mawile?"

Mawile shrugged, putting up her best '_I have no idea what you are talking about' _expression.

"Of course you don't," Red muttered.

* * *

Crisis averted, and no blood spilled, Red had graciously thanked Cory for the gift and hadn't wasted a moment to get down from the building. Not trusting his feet, he had taken a quick taxi to the Pokémon Center, while Mawile, being remarkably uninjured from her battle, had returned to caring for her cherry-blossom tree, which was currently lying upside-down along the windowpane.

Wait. There was something wrong with that.

"Mawile? Why is the cherry-blossom out of the pot? I thought you were taking care of the tree."

The piece of mud that came flying towards him in answer was enough to stop him from asking further questions. Besides, all she was doing was dropping all the mud on the floor. Perhaps she had a change in mind or something? Well as long as she cleaned up afterward, it would probably be fine. He was far too excited with his new pokémon to worry about what she was doing at the moment

He ignored Mawile's eccentricities and returned to gaze at the greatball in his hand. Then, as if struck with a touch of inspiration, he instantly scanned it using the Dex, allowing the monotonous, mechanical voice to reveal its findings.

**This Skarmory is female. Known Move set: Peck, Flash, Wing Attack, Iron Head and Steel Wing. Abilities: Keen Eye and Sturdy.**

This was getting better and better. Two abilities? Having the potential for two abilities wasn't uncommon in the pokémon world, but this usually translated to having a single ability and a _hidden _ability that manifested under certain conditions. Having two abilities from the very start, though— that was a rather uncommon thing. This Skarmory must have had powerful parents.

He checked in for more information.

**Keen Eye. Increases visual perception significantly. Allows accurate vision through terrain changes that impair sight such as sandstorms or hail.**

**Sturdy. A byproduct of Skarmory's body physiology. The layer of metal on the body surface is constantly regenerated from the inside, keeping Skarmory in shape despite the constant erosion on the surface. It significantly decreases the possibility of death, which is why most Skarmory live for several centuries.**

This Skarmory was Gold with a capital G. With its abilities, even a low-powered Wing Attack would cause significant damage. Add that to Skarmory's own speed and her natural steel-typing, a Steel Wing attack from a significantly high dive would possibly cause more damage than a head-on Hyper Beam. He could see the implications in front of his very eyes. With Mawile and her versatility and deceit, and Skarmory's speed, defense, and offense, the whole world would tremble and fall down to their knees as Red Ketchum would tower above them. Especially if Ashley was the kind of trainer who participated in Conferences.

_Fear me, Indigo League. I'm coming to violate you._

During all this while, Mawile, who had turned to glance at her trainer, seemed to be edging away slightly further and further as her trainer's face seemed to turn all maniacal before he literally began to salivate. Seriously, wasn't hyper-salivation indicative of mental illness? Perhaps Red had been a little too damaged from the electrocution back then. Maybe that's why he insisted on keeping that useless mute and allowed it to tag along.

She looked at Skarmory's greatball in Red's hand. From what she had guessed, the avian was a fine battler. Perhaps between her and Skarmory, Red would be too engrossed to notice the useless Shellder? If that was the case, then it would be really easy to get rid of it.

Yes, fighting at the Square did come with its own share of advantages.

Her jaw shook slightly.

Mawile widened her eyes. Even her jaw seemed to agree with her now.

This was getting beyond ridiculous.

* * *

**Meanwhile in Pallet Town.**

"Defarge, I didn't hope to encounter the bureaucrat twice in the same week." Oak started the impending conversation, stepping into the parlor. He had heard the bell ring, and Delia, who had returned just a day ago, had mentioned that there was someone from the League there to visit him, but he had likely thought that it was probably one of Lance's henchmen, trying to sell him the job of the First of the Elite Four.

"We got some leads on your complaint. Divan thought it would be best if I gave you the message personally, since well… it came from you."

Oak ignored the slight headache that was just beginning to form. And people thought he was being childish when he gave up his throne. Anything was more bearable than having to make endless conversations with politicians who couldn't touch their nose without twisting their hands around their necks. Maybe there was some kind of curse involved. Possibly mind-manipulation, he'd have to look into it.

"What about it? I thought it was a simple issue. Has the boy testified?"

"Mr. Kent has been unavailable from the very day you registered the complaint. In fact, his last presence was at Pallet Town Pokécare, the very evening you made the complaint."

"Healing his pokémon, I believe?"

"Exactly. The details weren't clear, but from what the nurses were able to reveal, his pokémon were in a state of extreme injury. There had also been a submission of four thousand pokédollars at that institution by Kent for healing his pokémon."

"Were they treated?"

Defarge scowled at that. "So far the records are fairly straight. It is after this point that things become slightly… odd."

Oak tilted his head slightly. "How?"

"From what the nurses and other medical staff told us, his team had been placed under the care of a certain Dr. Pym. But when our warrant officer reached there for inquiry, there was no trace of him whatsoever. Every single staff member swore up and down that they not only knew Pym, but that they had worked with him for years, and knew him to be a very good man, but none of the records show any mention of a Doctor Pym at all."

"What do you mean there was no mention of—?"

"Exactly what I said," Defarge muttered with a scowl. "The situation is odd, which is probably why Divan asked me to bring you up to date in person. Everyone in the staff apparently trusted Pym like hell, but when asked, they could not provide even a general picture of the man. It was almost like their memories had been—"

"Manipulated?" Oak finished. "But where does Ritchie Kent come in all of this?"

Defarge shook his head. "I haven't the slightest idea. Whoever this Dr. Pym is, it is presumably correct that Ritchie Kent was last seen with him. Sometime during the early hours of the morning, Mr. Kent's pokémon had been transferred to another facility, on Pym's orders, for better treatment. Ritchie Kent had been spotted leaving the clinic sometime before that."

"I hardly think someone would go through something so diabolical as memory-manipulation to simply kidnap a rookie trainer and his pokémon, if that is indeed the case." Oak frowned. "There is something more than this. Something that is not clear."

Defarge agreed. "We ran a check on the official database. There is no mention of a Doctor Pym anywhere. He did not ever exist. The closest we found was a Dr. Hank Pym serving as Administrator at the Harvey Medical Institute in north Johto some hundred and seventy years ago."

"Put me through to Lance. If I give him a direct request, he might sanction a memory check on the medics. That might get us somewhere." Oak suggested. The idea of someone performing sinister activities so close to home deeply perturbed the old man.

_Have I gotten so feeble-minded that I miss what is right under my nose?_

"We already did that. Davin acquired permission for that. Lady Sabrina's alakazam performed the scans. There was nothing. Their minds retain traces of information about how well they know Dr. Pym. I believe Lady Sabrina's exact words were— '_it is like watching a disc replay over and over for a year. A little information repeated over and over so much that it occupies a significant part of their memory.'_

"And now Ritchie Kent is with him," Oak muttered, wondering if his report had pushed the young man into taking a decision he'd come to regret.

"Whatever Mr. Kent's dealings are with this Pym character, the Trainer ID suspension charge on him has been suspended temporarily. Davin thinks it might make Kent show up, and answer a couple of our questions."

"Let me know if there is any information on that. I'll… work on the increased safety of Pallet Town." Oak sighed. He'd been doing that a lot lately.

"Davin suspected you would. Nevertheless, I'm told that we have a standing order for two Ace trainers to be transferred to Pallet by the end of the week. You are requested to work alongside them."

Oak nodded. For some reason, the word Pym kept repeating itself over and over in his mind. It was almost as if it was something he had once known but chosen to forget. But that was certainly not possible. After all, nothing in the database even mentioned a man called Pym, and Oak himself had a near-photographic memory.

_Don't worry about it. _Oak told himself. _He's just another criminal. Bit strange, but you've dealt with plenty of his type._

_Everything is going to be just fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	6. Act 1 - Immolation | Chapter 6 - Shellder's Showdown

"Come on, Mawile. Don't be so bitter. Just eat it. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day after all."

Mawile huffed, pushing the bowl of pokémon food away. Seriously, she was beginning to hate this city. Back when they were in Pallet, she had Red's undivided attention and could bask in it as much as she wanted. But ever since they had gotten out of the river, every single incident had only caused issues between them. It had started with that inconspicuous, but useless mute Shellder. Come to think of it, she should have just thrown it back into the water when she had the chance. But she hadn't.

And it had grown to be a pain in the jaw, of epic proportions— it was so clingy, always being attached to some part of his body. Not only that, when it came to training it always stole away Red's attention when creating illusory forms. Mawile had heard enough from Red about how shellder had almost zero learning potential, so of all the shellder in the world, why did Red have to catch some kind of Double Team savant? Mawile felt like Shellder was trying to undermine the rest of its species just by doing that.

"At least try the others. I even added figs and nuts this time. You know, your favorite."

_DON'T CARE! _Mawile yelled furiously within her mind, still sticking to her scowl. She'd thought that after a spectacular victory against that vicious ursaring, she'd get back to the Pokémon Center, and more importantly, to her secret stash. She had been happy gobbling up the poképuffs she had rescued from that mean, old nurse at the reception, only to find that they tasted a little like… dirt.

Come to think of it, storing all those poképuffs inside a tree pot might not have been the best idea after all. Though, it wasn't like she had any alternatives. She was improvising.

That was why she had emptied the entire pot, and lifted up one of tile plates on the room's floor, finding a tiny contraption beneath it. It wasn't too big, but enough to hold the poképuffs for the time being, until she was able to improvise some more.

And then the very next morning, Red had told her— AFTER getting out of the Center —that they had overstayed, and thus, had to leave the room for the other trainers. Obviously, it was of no difference, since he had a perfectly fine tent for himself.

Mawile had not cried. Mawile had not sobbed.

_For the next ten seconds._

And then, she had broken down into heart-wrenching misery. All her deception, all her sacrifices, had yielded nothing. _Nothing._

Every single day she had used her cuteness to go with the nurse and steal a few poképuffs, making sure to take only a little at a time so she would be unnoticed, and put them back into her secret stash. It wasn't like any good would come out of keeping those delicacies _trapped _inside that large jar. Those poképuffs were splendid and _deserved _to be eaten. In fact, trapping them away inside large jars were pretty much a crime when they would better serve as food for others— pokémon like herself. So, in her eyes, she had only delivered judgment, upon the nurse for being inattentive towards her charges.

Over the duration of their ten-day stay at the Center, her stash had grown bigger, larger. Of course, you could never have enough poképuffs, but there were certainly more than the previous days. But still, perhaps all hope hadn't been lost, and perhaps they could reclaim that room, and she could reclaim her stash.

Unfortunately, despite Mawile's all-encompassing knowledge of the world, she had yet to learn about Murphy's Law.

One day after she had been forced to abandon the poképuffs at the Center, Red had received a text from the Viridian Pokémon Center, asking him to pay a visit within the next three days. Flummoxed by the odd text, Red had taken a stupidly-happy Mawile back to the Center. And that was when things had started to go all wrong.

That was two days ago.

"You know that pouting won't change the fact that you did steal them in the first place. You should be happy that I'm not as angry with you as I should be."

Mawile glared at her trainer. Truly Red had a poor grasp of the concept of belongings. If she found a den, it became hers. She wouldn't be giving it out to someone who had perhaps found it first. After all, the former must have been uncaring, or else, they would not have left the den free for others to find.

It was the same for the poképuffs. If the Nurse really wanted them all to herself, then she should have buried them underground, away from prying eyes, like Mawile had so effectively demonstrated. To openly display such a treasure was equivalent to inviting others to rob her.

"Making faces will not help your case. Not only did you steal the poképuffs, you even stole the potted tree at the entrance."

Mawile frowned. How else was she supposed to sneak out the poképuffs? The tree was a splendid distraction. Red should have been praising her. Wasn't this an example of the distractionary and deceptive tactics that Red went on and on about?

" Then you made a hole underneath the room floor and buried the poképuffs. In the ground. What were you thinking?" Red whispered furiously.

She was, from what she remembered, thinking that hiding the puffs in the plant's pot was too suspicious. After all, she had never shown any interest in gardening before. Most plants tasted yucky. But even so, it was an outrageous accusation. Mawile didn't make any holes. The hole existed beneath the floor. She just lifted up one of the tiles and found it.

"You should be glad that the nurse was nice enough to just give us a scolding and let us leave. If she had fined us, we'd have been in a lot of trouble. Three thousand isn't a joke."

"Skar?"

_Oh yes. We were waiting for your highness to voice your opinion. _Mawile thought ruefully, scowling as she pushed herself towards the extreme right, and sat with Red and Skarmory now behind her. At least looking at the blank canvas of the tent was a better option than trying to convince her dopey—

"Shill!"

Mawile blinked, finding the mute right in front of her. Apparently it was sitting behind her all this time. Almost cautiously, she stared into the mute, wondering for one second what existed in the eternal darkness that lay within Shellder's shell.

_ **SWURRRRP!** _

Shellder extended out his long, crimson tongue and licked Mawile. Well, one could argue it was less of a licking and more of a sweeping-her-face with its salivary juices.

"MAAAAWAAAA!" Mawile yelled in agonizing frustration, screaming her way out of the tent.

Shellder squeaked, silently wondering what had gotten into its companion. Perhaps she had realized that her chances of becoming 'Shellder' were not very good? She'd didn't exactly have a long tongue after all.

* * *

_ **Five years ago** _

_Skarmory crouched, her instincts warning her from going out amidst the powerful hurricane that raged outside the safety of her cave. As someone who lived above the rest of the populace below, she couldn't help but feel disappointment surging through her veins. It was both hilarious and insulting how a weather phenomenon managed to tear down every illusion of hierarchy and power the creatures on Earth had. At any other time, she'd have claimed all of this as her own. The vast greenness of the grasslands spanning for several hectares, the forests that ran abound on the slopes of Vortigern, before disappearing into the hillocks along the lower ranges. She and her grandfather lived atop the tallest cliff of the Vortigern Range, a seat above anyone else._

_Standing at nine and a half feet tall her grandfather was the largest predator in the sky. Neither the rebel rhydon of the bohemian packs nor the plebeian fighting-types of the forest or even the chieftain nidoking of the nidoran herd could challenge him. Even the mighty onix inside the mountain, who had survived several centuries in silent dormancy, respected her grandfather's might. This was the Vortigern Range, known by the humans as the Fuchsia Reserve, but for her, this was the place where she lived, under the rule of her grandfather. The King of Vortigern._

_Another flash of bright blue light as electricity streaked through the night sky, and amidst the roaring gale, Skarmory recognized the flash of silver-large wings spanning over eight feet on either side, casting an imposing figure, enough for the Chieftains of other herds to look up to him with awe and respect. They called him Vortigern, after the very mountain itself._

'_Someday, they'll respect me just like him.'_ _Skarmory told herself._

_The streaks of silver appeared over and over, as if the very winds were trying to illuminate her grandfather's presence. Skarmory pushed her long neck outside, just in time to feel the gust that accompanied with every single flap of his wings. With a mighty screech, Vortigern descended down at the precipice, right in front of her cave._

"_Youngling, I thought you hated storms. Why are you outside in such perilous weather?"_

_Skarmory lifted her head. She had seen seven monsoons as far as she could remember, and hated every one of them. Her tiny, metal body experienced difficulties in trying to maneuver against the powerful gales during the thunderstorms, and her coating wasn't durable enough to resist. Pellets of rain hit her body at incredible speeds, which was why the royal grand-daughter of the king stayed within the confines of her cave for most of the season._

"_If the rain scares me, then how will I ever become king?"_

_Her grandfather laughed. "You have several, several monsoons before that can happen. You have to grow strong, and fight your way from the populace below to assert your authority over them."_

"_But I already have authority over them. They know you are the king."_

_The older avian laughed. Perhaps it wasn't time yet. "In time, you'll have to assert your own power over them. Independent of my own. You'll have to learn how to lose and stand up again and again, until you achieve victory. Though you have many monsoons ahead of you before that happens, and who knows, you might choose the path of your father— choosing to travel the world with humans, and carve out his own path of conquest. You have a great destiny, bigger than the Vortigern. And to achieve it, you might have to travel past Vortigern itself."_

"_I'll never do that." Skarmory refuted. She had grown up watching her grandfather rule the world that was the Vortigern range. In her mind, choosing to step down from that position to travel around the world with humans was lowly, and not something worthy of her pedigree. Perhaps those humans had done something nasty to her father, or perhaps he had simply been that naive and gullible, but Skarmory was not._

_Skarmory was strong. She was dedicated and determined. She'd rise in the shadow of Vortigern himself, and then someday, take his place._

_And no human would ever deviate her from her destiny._

* * *

**Present Day**

Skarmory witnessed the interaction between her _trainer (retainer _according to her) and that amusing creature known as a Mawile with a mixture of amusement and interest. From her own experience with the humans taking care of the Vortigern population, humans weren't _that _bad— well not all of them anyway. The medics often came along with the other caretakers, checking the population for injuries or illnesses, and then injecting them with the proper remedies. Besides, she had taken the decision to travel with a human for a reason, and she wasn't someone who went back on her word.

She dug into the raw steak with relish, consuming it without further delay. At the very least, Red wasn't one of those humans that forced their pokémon to feed on _food-supplements _or whatever they were called— tiny morsels of half-baked vegetables that tasted mostly edible on a good day and were all-around awful unless someone knew how to make them tastier. Skarmory had often chosen to decline the food offered by the humans, preferring to hunt for tastier prey in the wild. The years had been good to her. She had grown from her tiny, frail self into a sturdy avian with a thick sheet of metal coating every inch of her body. No longer did she fear the rains, or thunderstorms. Of course, she was far from growing out of her grandfather's imposing shadow, but she was her own person. Her wings had grown over five feet on each side, and she stood at a whopping seven feet at present. There was no hurry. She was certain that in time, she'd surpass her grandfather in height and power.

Time itself would be her witness.

From what she understood about her company, Red traveled the path of the king. He was a human who had grown in the shadow of a great man and was aspiring for greatness himself, in hopes of surpassing his mentor in due time. Skarmory could empathize with that, having experienced the same, quite intimately one might say. That left the little water-type, that mostly seemed content to chew Red's hair or fingers from time to time— an amusing if somewhat concerning behavior in her eyes —or experimenting with those illusory forms of itself. She had been surprised and downright envious at the obvious level of control the Shellder had on the technique.

It should not come as a surprise that she bullied Red into getting her the TM as well.

Of course, she had yet to determine the strength and fortitude of her trainer and her subordinates (the mawile creature and the water-type— Shellder, she remembered). She wanted to see where they stood compared to her, and if her personal strength would suffer against any challenges in this… humanized world. Though she had yet to fight a creature of strength and skill superior to herself since Red hadn't put her through dangerous battles.

It was surprising. She'd thought that humans liked nothing better than to run their captured pokémon through the grinder. Skarmory would have had problems with that, if not for the fact that she knew it produced results. She had left the mountains to grow strong and now she was worried that they weren't training enough.

As for the mawile creature, Skarmory had found her to be a deceitful, little thing. Her powers at sensing the elements or the esoteric were hardly on the level of her grandfather, but she knew a fairy when she saw one. Humans were pretty easy to charm, and Red was quite captivated by the mawile creature's demeanor. Obviously, there was no wrong in that. The mawile creature was tiny, and from what Skarmory understood, her sole weapon was the large jaw protruding out of its head. It also served as a mouth for digesting larger prey. The mawile creature was a perfect example of an underdog trying to survive in a world of ferocious and powerful behemoths, much like she was, back in her adolescence. Only, she herself had been a naive little idiot, and this mawile creature was very good at deception.

Either way, Skarmory decided to make it clear with the mawile creature. She was on the team now, and one of Skarmory's subordinates, which meant that she'd no longer require to employ deception to survive. With Skarmory beside her, the .awile creature would need to learn to snatch whatever she wanted directly_. Such_ was the way of the king after all.

With that thought in her mind, Skarmory let out a soft screech, flapping her wings as she went after Mawile.

Red watched her leave with a soft smile. It was good to see some bonding between his pokémon.

_Perhaps Skarmory will be able to explain to her why stealing is wrong,_

* * *

An automatic scowl appeared on Mawile's face as she sensed the flapping of wings nearby. The blasted avian was here. Shellder could handle— one slap of her jaw, and it'd be sent flying. The huge, metallic avian was a different matter altogether. A sharp slap, hell a full-fledged Iron Head would barely cause a dent on her body, while a single slash from those sword-barrels she called wings, and Mawile would be a goner. While she acknowledged the tremendous development humans made in the field of healing, no amount of medicine could cure death. Or stupidity for that matter come to think of it.

Mawile might have been Red's starter, and she might have been responsible for winning him everything he had so far while on his journey. Hell, it was Mawile's precious victory over the Ursaring that had caused Red to even get Skarmory in the first place, but that didn't change the fact that Skarmory was larger. Skarmory was faster. She could fly, and Mawile could not. Skarmory had a vastly superior and durable body while Mawile had to make sure to avoid getting so much as a scratch. Skarmory had incredible stamina, while Mawile had to make every single attack count. At the very least, Mawile wished she could have boasted on the power and strength of her steel jaw. But Skarmory was practically an avatar of steel— what with the way the thick layers of the metal seemed to be wrapped around her, like a protective enchantment to keep her from harm.

_Is this how it feels to be outclassed? With Skarmory, Red would be able to achieve victories against powerful creatures. My win against that bear wouldn't even count. Will I be…?_

For one moment, she felt a growing emptiness all around her. It was like the tent had vanished. Red too, had vanished. Everyone had vanished. There was only Mawile, sitting at the edge of the river. Or a precipice atop a steep cliff.

_Will I be… be left behind now?_

The sound of the wings beating grew closer and Mawile felt her scowl deepen further. Truth be told, while she was bitter about losing her poképuffs, what she feared even more, was that she'd be losing Red's attention as well. It was one of the reasons she threw up temper tantrums, just so that Red would tend to her, and give her the attention she deserved. Gods, she felt so clingy at times.

The loud, boisterous screech immediately alerted her to the presence of the avian behind her. Her scowl disappearing, she turned out, replying back in her own tongue. "_Yes, I'm the mawile creature. What do you want?"_

Skarmory flapped her wings a few times, before settling on a good, solid spot on the ground. Folding her wings, she crooked her long neck downward at the fairy, crooning in a soft tone, or at least, as soft as her vocal cords allowed, "_You seem to feel… out of place. Being my subordinate, this is unacceptable. It is my duty to help her realize the unvarnished truth of her situation."_

Mawile felt a violent urge to ignore all of the self-preservation instincts that were screaming at her to maintain her calm. There was no way, absolutely no way to win against this arrogant beast. She'd simply need to digest whatever insults she threw at her, and keep herself alive.

_Dying would be counterproductive. Don't get angry. Don't get angry._

"_What do you mean.. Help me realize the… unvarn... The truth?"_

"_Unvarnished truth. The utter and complete truth. You are tiny, so of course you're a plebeian. I forgive you."_

Mawile felt her left eye twitch.

"_And that is?"_

Skarmory had a pleasant expression on her face. "_You are approaching things in the wrong way. You employed deception and failed in the act. Of course, your being tiny and helpless might have led to this method of survival, but now you are my subordinate, and hence, I believe you should instead… take what you want."_

Mawile blinked. Several times. "_Come again?"_

Skarmory almost frowned. "_Take. Whatever. You. Want. " _She spoke as if talking to a small child. Then again, tact for was plebeians, and as befitting a future ruler, it was her duty to always speak the complete truth at all times for her subordinates. Also, Mawile was tiny, so she counted as a child anyway.

Mawile considered her opinion. Despite the overly arrogant tone, the Skarmory had come to offer her advice. Yes, it was in a round-about, overly boisterous and self-serving fashion, but it was advice nonetheless. "_And how do you… I mean, I… do that?"_

Skarmory smiled lethally. "_I knew you showed promise. The art of snatching involves using your power to take from others. This nurse, for example, the one that kept you from your poképuffs, she is a human and is therefore weak. You have my support. You should fight and get them back, just like you deserve."_

Mawile pondered over the matter. She liked the idea of taking whatever she wanted, but she wasn't Skarmory, with her giant steel body. Maybe she'd have to start small first. Shellder did seem like a weakling and probably couldn't retaliate even if she did steal its food. And serves it right for always stealing Red's attention while doing basically nothing. The idea of snatching away Shellder's food away did feel good.

Her jaw shook agreeably.

_Oh, come on. _Mawile groaned inwardly. Perhaps Skarmory was a bad influence on her jaw? She'd need to get to the depth of the matter. But that was for later.

Snatching Shellder's food was of higher importance. Yes, she could totally see Shellder squeaking and wailing as she munched upon the delicious meal that could have been Shellder's but his attitude had gotten him what he deserved and—

"Mawile, Skarmory!" Red's voice tore through her reverie. "It's getting late. We should try to get in a couple of hours of training before lunch."

Mawile scoffed. Really now, one shouldn't interrupt her like that. She could lose some really fantastic ideas in the process.

* * *

"I've been thinking… we've been in Viridian City for quite some time and…" he glanced at Skarmory, "It is time we progress further. Pewter City is closest, roughly a week's journey from here. Also, Pewter is rich in iron ore."

Mawile's jaw shook… agreeably, one might say. Skarmory hollered at that. Iron ore was always welcome. They could use it to purify, strengthen and repair their steel parts. While they were not required to consume inordinate amounts of steel like Steelix or Aggron, it was still welcome since the metal directly enhanced existing layers, making them stronger.

"Yes, yes, we are heading for an eat-all-you-want buffet in Pewter, but there's the Viridian Forest before that to consider. The road travels along the periphery, and that's why it takes so much time— a week and a half even if I were to rent a cycle or something. And I'm not sure if flying over the forest is an option."

He glanced at Skarmory cautiously, waiting for a reaction, who shook her head.

"...right. Well then, we can always travel through the forest. I mean, there's always a chance of getting lost, but Skarmory can probably help there"— Skarmory screeched in agreement —" and there are hordes of bug pokémon around. I'm not talking about just caterpie. The old man told me there are groups of pinsir deep inside the forest grounds, and anything pokémon that can survive in that kind of environment is bound to be dangerous as well." He paused. "Taking the long path would safer, but it'd be a boring week, and I _really _want to try our power against some of the wild pokémon in the deeper sections of the forest. Obviously we wouldn't go in too deep, and nothing short of a Pinsir should even be able to get through Skarmory's armor. Also, most of the predators there tend to feed on the smaller bugs, so unless we do something really stupid, we should be fine."

He paused looking at his team. "So… what do you think?"

"Maw..wile!" Mawile nodded eagerly. The prospect of feasting on the bugs of the forest sounded wonderful to her. Besides, as Red said, the other alternative was a dull week. She hadn't traveled so far from Pomace to be bored out of her mind. The thirst for victory and the adrenaline rush had awakened something primal within her soul. Something that wouldn't go back into its shadowed cave now that it was out.

"Skar!" Skarmory proclaimed. Red's desire to establish dominion by defeating the wild creatures of the forest sounded like a kingly challenge to her. To enter the enemy's domain, crushing all opposition and conquering their territory— truly, the pinnacle of ambition. With another loud screech, she confirmed her acceptance.

"What do you think, Shellder?" Red asked, happy with everyone's consent.

Shellder did not voice his opinion. Instead, water gurgled out of its valves, wetting the ground beneath.

"Well, I'll take that as a yes." He sweatdropped. "Now then, time to get some training done. What do you say?"

Mawile nodded her head with vigor. Training was always welcome, and with a capable team member finally on board, she couldn't wait to show off.

Unzipping his backpack, Red casually took out a fairly thick dairy with a jet black cover, with the words NOTEBOOK sprawled on it in beautiful penmanship.

Mawile groaned.

* * *

For Team 'Red', there were three kinds of training regimens. The first, or the _Introduction Method _as Mawile called it_,_ was when Red would get the trainee (or lab rat, depending upon the perspective) inculcated with a specific TM. So far, Mawile had the maximum exposure to this, what with her recent gain of several skills over the past couple of weeks. Shellder had only been exposed to it once for Double Team and never again since Red wanted it to perfect Water Gun before he moved ahead to the next technique. After a TM was inculcated, Red would proceed to explain what the move was, liberally using the Dex to show videos of the move performed by other Mawile. That would be accompanied by long explanations on the move after which he'd deem her ready to practice it. Usually, this regimen lasted for several hours and ended up with the trainee being severely exhausted (and irritated because of the impudent water-type in the background).

The second method was what Mawile called the _Normal Method. _This was by far the most common method in practice over her time spent with Red, and it was something she was most comfortable with. This method was applicable for all those moves that Mawile knew but was not very good with. Thunder Wave, Double Team and Mist fell under this regimen.

The third, and what Mawile dreaded the most, was the _Notebook Method. _In this, Red would take out that sinister-looking notebook of his— his logbook, where he had meticulously and painstakingly jotted down _every single fault _Mawile had made while learning a particular move. This method was applicable for moves she knew _and _was close to mastering but was making stupid mistakes on the way. Whenever she'd make a mistake, Red would sit her down and make her undergo a humiliating episode where he'd loudly state each and every one of her mistakes so far, after which he'd take her through a most uninspiring lecture related to the move and its effects in excruciating detail.

What was worse, that Mawile had once fallen asleep in the middle of a lecture, giving in to her tiredness. Poor Red had been inconsolable.

Ever since that day, he meticulously kept repeating '_Mawile, are you awake? Are you listening?' _every fifteen minutes, whenever he used the Notebook Method. She even had to stay awake on occasions when Red was trying to teach the mute bastard.

"As I was saying," Red smiled disarmingly, much to Mawile's consternation, "this is our last training session before we enter the Viridian Forest. Inside, there might not be several chances for further training. However, the bug pokémon found inside should provide enough to keep yourself challenged."

Skarmory screeched loudly in agreement.

Red inwardly smiled. With someone like Skarmory in his group, his opinion about his chances of them surviving in the wild had gone up several notches. This would be the second time he'd be in a wild environment after Pallet Forest. The last time he and Mawile had just started and had been taken by wouldn't be the same this time. Mawile had an area-of-effect move in the form of Thunder Wave to take care of aerial nuisances, though Skarmory herself would be enough to deal with those in kind. Also, Mist would be effective to get out of dangerous situations or to deliver a swift attack on an unsuspecting attacker. Further, Mawile's ability with Iron Head was superlative as usual, and her hold on Icy Wind was nearing Hail.

It had been an unexpected surprise, but a welcome one. He had pitted Mawile against Skarmory and asked her to try force the avian down to the ground through Icy Wind alone. It had taken over seven attempts, but the final one had ice shrapnel instead of powdery snow, causing the avian to falter.

_Next time I face that bastard Ritchie and his charmander, Mawile will be able to deal with his whole team alone. _Red thought ruefully.

"Skarmory, perhaps you could circle through your current moves once, before continuing your practice with Double Team with Shellder? I should tell you that Shellder is a master at it."

Shellder squealed happily.

"—and nothing else."

Shellder squealed again, regardless.

Rolling his eyes, he turned to Mawile, tipping the Notebook's apex with a finger. "So, where were we?"

Mawile swallowed, before putting forth her best fake smile.

_Don't worry, _she told herself. _You've survived worse._

* * *

With Skarmory in the air, and Shellder happy with his own... eccentricities, Red turned to Mawile, who looked like she wanted to be anywhere but there.

"Maw… mawa?" She asked cutely, though the undercurrent of desperation was visible to anyone who had spent a considerable amount of time with her.

"Do you really think I'm going to fall for that? You should have seen this coming."

"Mawwf!" Mawile scoffed, crossing her hands and looking away.

"Don't take that tone with me, little lady, we need to discuss what happened in the battle against the ursaring. I let you have your sulking for the past two days, while we got Skarmory acclimatized to the team, but you cannot delay this any longer."

Mawile scoffed again, closing her eyes and looking away. So this must be about her behavior at the end of the match. Seriously, what did Red think she did at the end of a fight back at Pomace? Shake hands with her prey and wish them goodnight?

"I'm not angry with you for attacking the ursaring."

Mawile opened one eye to glance at her trainer from one corner. Red really did know how to get her to listen. Curiosity was, and would forever be, her sin.

"This is about your dangerous arrogance in battles."

Mawile blinked.

Red sighed. "Look, I know you've had several victories as of late, some of them being pretty impressive too. But during the fight with the ursaring, it almost looked like you were ignoring every rule in the book, and just having too much fun. Did you forget what would happen if one of those rocks deflected and hit you instead? And when you played with it by darting in and out of the mist. For something that big, all it needs to connect is a single swing, and that's game over."

That paused Mawile in her tracks.

"You are letting your victories go to your head. They were impressive, and you're growing stronger, but that doesn't change things. You cheat, you employ deception, and you land surprise yet solid hits on the opponent. That is how you survive and get to fight another day. Your behavior back during the match was… outright berserk. Your steel jaw is strong and can take hit after hit, but your body cannot."

A small frown appeared on Mawile's face. Her small stature and her natural fragility were not something she was ignorant about, but she was used to getting past that using her charm and deceit. Here, after facing other pokémon in battles, she had seen a different part of her emerge—a predator, a being who wanted to relish in the joy of a successful hunt and then feast on its prey. Initially, it had only been an instinctual drive, but battle after battle had created an addict out of her. Back on Pomace, it had only served a single goal—food. Now, she loved the rush. She embraced the feeling that hunting larger prey gave her. It energized her, to bring down such behemoths to her mercy, seeing the fear in their eyes before she landed the final blow.

But Red was calling her fragile.

In any other circumstances, she'd have taken offense to that statement. But this was different. Red's statement had not come across as a challenge. He had not said it to make her feel inferior. Instead, he only wanted to point out her fragility, because he cared for her, cared for her continued health and survival. It was… endearing, in a way.

Mawile huffed, looking away again. What was the point behind all of this anyway? She'd show him. She'd grow stronger, learn faster and gain more experience. She'd defeat larger and bulkier pokémon, and soon climb on the very apex of the food chain. Once she'd claimed it, Red would no longer have to worry about such silly things.

Yup, that was all there was to it. But of course, Red didn't need to know that.

"Maw...wile!" She nodded graciously, adopting an expression of deep understanding and self reflection..

Red rolled his eyes, knowing an act when he saw one. "Anyway, I also need to tell you that what you did at the end, was something… frowned upon."

"Wile?" Mawile narrowed her eyes. Was Red telling her that attacking that hulking beast was wrong? Did he not see how the ursaring had tried to kill her earlier?

"Wile… mawamawile!"

"I am not finished!" Red spoke, his voice a little louder with a tone of finality.

That shut Mawile up. This was the first time Red had raised his voice at her. She decided that she definitely didn't like it.

"I was referring to your reaction against that girl, Ashley." He continued in a softer tone. "Ursaring was free game, but if the opponent forfeits, then you have to stop. If you don't, it will cause problems. Problems for you, and problems for me. The League has an eye out for rogue pokémon, and takes them away from their trainers."

Mawile's eyes widened like saucers at that comment. They'd take her from Red? And he'd allow that?

"It's not something that I can stop. They have rules and we have to follow them. Hunting in the wild is fair game, but not during an official battle. You go in, you fight and defeat the opponent. Hell, you can injure it if it is particularly vicious. If it's dangerous, I don't expect you to think of the opponent's safety and hold back in fear of injuring it or worse. But don't do anything against the trainer_. _Do you understand?"

For one second, Mawile looked like an angry Houndour, what with the way her teeth gnashed against themselves, her tiny fists clenched, unhappy at the chains put around her. In that instant Red remembered Oak warning him against the very same.

"_The bond between you is slowly forming, and it hasn't been tested yet. I am only concerned that things might fall into disarray, and should you have serious disagreements, then Mawile could possibly—"_

"Wile!" Mawile shook her head, sighing in disappointment. Then, she looked up at him and gave a tentative nod.

_Good._

Slowly, Red let out a breath that he didn't know he had been holding as he sighed in relief. He had successfully tested the limits of his relationship with Mawile, and come out unhurt. Mawile had understood, and now, he needed to see if she was amenable to his newest suggestions.

_Only time will tell._

"Well… with that out of the way, let us talk about everything you did wrong in that battle." Red commented with a sinister grin as he opened the notebook.

For the second time that day, Mawile groaned.

* * *

**Meanwhile in Pewter City.**

When he had first made the decision to join Team Rocket, Ritchie's mind had built up mental images of darkened rooms filled with swarms of uninformed people committing evil atrocities without hesitation. He had imagined a masked leader with glowing red eyes, standing amidst nameless and faceless grunts, ordering them to spread chaos and disarray into the hearts of man and pokémon alike. There would probably be a large graveyard or something, beneath which was an underground basement that spread out dozens of miles penetrating into the city's territory without the League knowing about it, ensuring that these terrorists had access to almost every inch of the city's premises. He hadn't quite expected well… this.

"Am I really at the right place?" Ritchie murmured, flabbergasted, as he stared at what appeared to be his destination. Blinking twice, he gazed down at the address on the card again. Yes, he was exactly on the right lane of the right street, in Pewter City, and this was the exact location he was headed for.

He wondered if Mickey had been playing some kind of joke on him, as he read off the name on the sign in front of him.

**GROSS CONVENIENT STORE**

**Liquor and Cigarettes at High Discounts**

The private teleportation from the West Coast to Pewter City was over before he knew it. He remembered the Alakazam staring at him for a moment before he felt a sharp tug around his navel and a mild sense of disorientation. When he opened his eyes again, the scenery had changed. He was now standing on the side of a bi-lane roadway right next to what seemed to be an ordinary dispensary store. From there, he had figured out that he was in Pewter City, and his destination was a few miles north of his current location.

"A convenient store? First Hospitals and then stores? Does Team Rocket handle the economy of this country?" He mused, remembering his experience back at the private clinic in Pallet Town. The Nurse had been nothing but professional, and while Dr. Pym had shady connections, all he did was offer him aid. It was Mickey who was associated with Team Rocket.

_A recruit consultant perhaps? Do evil organizations have recruitment consultancies?_

Regardless, that was in the past. The deal had been struck, and he was the one who had offered. He had made his choice, and now he'd have to keep up his end of the bargain.

"Chu?"

The somewhat unfamiliar but no less welcome sound of his pokémon rang in his ears. He dropped his gaze to his side, towards the electric rodent beside him. There, right there, was all the proof that he had made the right decision.

_Sparky is safe._

Of course, Sparky looked different. Very different. The yellowish fur had been replaced with a golden sheen, with two scale-like ears on his head and little claws on his fingertips. The original yellow, jagged tail was gone, replaced with a black, cord-like frame ending with what seemed like a shard of metal fashioned in the shape of a lightning bolt. This was what would allow Sparky to leech away unnecessary voltage whenever things went a little out of order. He was larger too, and heavier. As a pikachu, he had always found his cozy place between Ritchie's shoulders, but Raichu would have to walk alongside him, having grown past Ritchie's ability to carry him.

"We're lucky we got our hands on a Thunder Stone, didn't we? Who knows what might have happened if we didn't." Ritchie mumbled, softly caressing Raichu's ears, causing the rodent to purr with pleasure.

Contrary to what he believed, evolution via stone wasn't a drastic phenomenon, but a gradual, time consuming one. Under natural conditions, a pikachu would need to absorb the power of a lightning-bolt without grounding itself. It was almost like a ritual amongst Pikachu colonies where the leader of the group would conduct the ritual and try to ascend into the evolved state and become a Raichu. Not only were the requirements requiring control incredibly high, to even be able to attract said lightning bolt, but the chances of survival were abyssal. However, on successful evolution, the pokémon's electric capacity would increase tremendously. Further, the electric output of the Raichu would undergo a qualitative increase, with each attack comparable to a natural lightning strike.

Of course, that was when the ritual succeeded. Nine out of ten times, it resulted in the pikachu exploding, its body unable to tolerate the high voltages covering its body.

As a result, most trainers in the past kept their pikachu from evolving unless it managed to cross an elite-tier pokémon standards, something that was consistently checked with a device known as a Light Ball. The moment a pikachu was strong enough to require a Light Ball, it was deemed ready to try for a natural evolution, although even so, the chances were seventy-thirty at best.

The wrath of a lightning strike was just that dangerous.

This problem was finally solved by the creation of the Thunder Stone— a technological wonder that employed a specific superconductor to store a prodigious amount of electrical energy within it. It wasn't comparable to the sheer power of lightning, but was enough to trigger an evolutionary reaction in Pikachu. Unlike its natural counterpart, this method would take several days to weeks, but the results were successful. Such Raichu weren't as powerful as the natural variants, but the sacrifice of a portion of strength for an assured rate of survival seemed like a reasonable deal.

Sparky had been fortunate that evolution had triggered a mass growth and mutation of cells on his posterior end, amongst several other things. The majority of his injuries had been dealt with, though it was obvious that he'd need to keep away from using tail-based attacks for a month or so. The one injury that still remained was on its left electricity pouch. It had been severely damaged by the Mawile, and not even Evolution had been able to cure it. For the remainder of his life, Raichu would have to depend on the remaining pouch to generate and store the majority of his electricity.

"Raiii?"

Ritchie dropped his musings at Raichu's call. "Nothing, just wondering how things have changed for us."

The rodent growled softly at that. Ever since that unfortunate encounter with that other human and that strange little creature, things had gone downhill for them. Raichu remembered sensing his trainer's frustration over the fire-lizard's defeat, followed by a sense of overwhelming fear at the brutish way in which that creature they had called a Mawile had tortured his fellow teammates. It was no stranger to the cruelty of humans and knew that behind the savagery of a beast, there was always a human pulling the chains. It had thought the same for Mawile's barbaric display and attacked the main source of Ritchie's troubles.

The human trainer.

Things after that hadn't really been all that clear, but Raichu remembered a sudden paralysis, as if something was holding every single muscle of its body in a powerful bind. It had tried to use electricity as a long-ranged attack, but the Mawile had been faster, and slammed that large, gaping jaw into its left pouch, tearing right through the tissue. What followed was something that Raichu preferred to not think about.

" I know you're angry. I am too. We will have our revenge against them in due time, for what they did to us." Ritchie swore softly. Chirpy had been subjected to expensive treatment, but she had recovered. She'd need to take it lightly for the next few weeks but she'd be fine. Princess was practically untouched considering everything. And Happy and Squishy hadn't participated in the first place.

The only other one who had pulled the short end of the straw was Zippo.

The charmander's tail had been mauled and mutilated to a severe degree. As a charmander his tail was made of soft tissue, which would expand and grow out through its charmeleon-phase. It would only be as a charizard that it would gain an armor of high tensile strength over it. The vicious attack that the Mawile had inflicted upon him, had dire results. The treatment had saved Zippo's life but had ensured that it would take a long time before his tail was in peak condition, if at all. Dr. Pym had suggested not to employ Charmander in any form of close-combat, and instead try working on his reserves to evolve him instead.

"Chu!" The Raichu raised its hands, electricity sparkling out of its pouches— most of them being the right one, with extremely thin sparks from the left.

Ritchie smiled at his starter's attempts at cheering him up. "Don't worry. Let's get back to where we were. You think we're at the right place?"

Raichu shrugged. Humans and their need to over complicate things always confused the poor creature. It never saw the need behind those fancy names Ritchie kept giving the entire team and had always presumed it to be another 'human' thing.

"Things have certainly changed, haven't they? Guess we won't be traveling from city to city anymore. Visiting gyms, catching wild pokémon, and winning badges, it's a thing of the past now. We're gonna work for Team Rocket now."

Raichu shrugged again. It honestly didn't matter. As far as it was concerned, it had battled in the past, and would probably do so for the foreseeable future. Getting food, battling, learning new moves and growing stronger— that was the life of a trained pokémon. It was a known thing. At least Ritchie was one of the good ones, as far as humans were concerned.

"Don't worry," Ritchie spoke, wrongly guessing his lackadaisical approach towards the change to be confusion, "We'll grow stronger here, and probably do it faster than we would have. Only the best move into the higher echelons of Team Rocket. Mickey told me so." His mind set, he let out a deep breath and took a step ahead, and then another, up towards the reception hall of the clinic.

And with that, Ritchie Kent's future took a new turn.

* * *

**Back in Viridian.**

"Fly up!"

Skarmory soared upward, gliding with the air currents. Under her grandfather's tutelage, she had learned how to effectively tune into the power of the wind and use the currents to glide _with _it, instead of rapidly beating her wings to stay airborne. Apparently, her grandfather could stay afloat with a single beat. _We don't fly, we glide-_was his favorite saying. She turned her body and weaved through at her fastest speed.

"Double Team. Six clones. Spread them as far away from yourself as possible."

Six clones formed around her, each of them spread out in all directions and flying upward. The illusory birds beat their wings once, before splitting away from the original. There were moments when the clones began to fade at places before regaining opaqueness.

"Reverse direction. Steel Wing."

Skarmory wondered if this was some kind of drill. Red was giving her orders that contradicted his previous ones. She wondered if this was some human way of checking one's competency.

"Full speed. Iron Head. Swoop down and pull up whenever you feel safe."

Skarmory screeched. This was fun. She felt the surreal powers of gravity pull her down, and she dived faster, wanting to surpass her maximum speed. As a child, she had often done this, diving as low as she could before swooping up at the last possible moment. Being a Skarmory she had a huge advantage over other birds in how much momentum she could use in every attack without taking recoil damage from the impact, her thick steel coat protecting her from collisions with other pokémon or even when she lost control and crashed into the ground. She concentrated steel energy on her head and beak and shot downwards towards the ground, performing a steep, parabolic dive.

"Pull up whenever you feel uncomfortable and fly horizontally." Red was glad he had invested in a good pair of speakers, allowing Skarmory to hear his commands, without him yelling himself hoarse. It was important that he knew what his newest pokémon's limits were. Once he got to know them better, he could work on developing them further.

Skarmory dived down further, feeling the layer of steel-energy coating her helm. The knowledge of Double Team and its execution had been pretty easy, and she had been able to create six to eight clones depending on the situation and her control. Even the clones had Steel Wing activated on them. This was fun.

_Ten feet, nine feet… eight feet._

"Remember to pull up. Pull up… up!"

_Seven… six…_

Skarmory remembered her grandfather performing steep, nigh vertical dives before pulling off mere inches above the ground. Of course, he was a master of air manipulation, but she was confident that she could pull off a dive such as this as well. Skarmory felt another layer of steel reinforce her body. She could almost feel herself getting heavier as the steel concentrated over her form.

_Five feet…_

_It is time. _She told herself. _If Grandfather could do this, I can as well. _One square meter of drag was enough to slow down a falling body by approximately twenty percent. It was one of the many things her grandfather had taught her about flight manipulation. Slowly tilting her wings in a slightly upward slope, she felt the sheer pressure of air slam into her wings. Any other avian would have probably gotten a contusion or at least a sprain around their winged regions, but the might of steel was not so easily overcome. Her bladed wings tilted a little higher…

_Four feet…. Three feet…_

She ignored the shocked yell Red gave out. She ignored the gasp Mawile made. She ignored everything else in the universe, save the tiniest distance between herself and a world of pain. Even the drag wasn't helping her lift, and now a crash was inevitable. Come to think of it, she had survived worse crashes than this back at the Reserve, so she probably wouldn't be too injured.

_But._

Red was watching, and the mawile creature— Mawile, was watching. While the crash wouldn't be lethal, it would cause a dent in their first impression. That would not bode well for the young King. Skarmory changed her mind.

_Two feet…_

She raised her wings upward, flapping them with great vigor. She ignored the backlash of the loss in momentum. Her body could deal with that. Making a choice, she raised the frequency, feeling the shards of her feathers grate against each other over and over, several times a second. A part of her could feel fatigue close by, the constant effort required for maintaining it clouding her senses.

Instead, she kept beating her wings over and over again.

It did not feel good. An immense discomfort began to spread through every nerve of her body, as her inner tissues were stretched to the utmost, keeping the thick armor of steel around them together. But falling down was not an option.

_One foot…_

The discomfort grew, as her wings grated against each other. Not once, but several times every second. And in every single part of her wingspan. The friction reached gigantic proportions, and a searing heat began to spread through them. She almost heard some sort of hissing sound in her ears, but the frequency of the flaps only grew. Fatigue was round the corner, but failing was not an option. She'd win, she'd manage it perfectly. A little pain was nothing compared to that. Metal clashed against metal, and Skarmory spread her wings a little to gain a little more area, dissipating the heat downwards.

The ground, once a grassy floor, was now covered in flames.

_At least one good thing came out of it. _Skarmory thought in elation, escaping the pull of gravity before gliding parallel to the ground. She took a sharp turn, and dug some of her steel feathers into the grass, hurling out dry earth at the site that had caught fire.

"Mawile, put it out," Red yelled, panting, as he rushed towards the site. Behind him, Mawile sprinted at her own pace, before a shower of icy cold wind blew out the flames. Once they were attended to, Mawile turned towards Skarmory and doused her with the same as well.

Skarmory screeched in defiance. She might have grown, but she still hated water with a passion.

"Don't be a baby. It's just Icy wind. Besides, look at what you've done to yourself." Red pointed out.

"Skar?"

It was true. Where there had been pristine metal, now there existed slight gashes on the surface. At first glance, it looked like someone had scratched it with a stronger substance repeatedly, but Red knew better. "This was caused by superheated air rushing past your wings."

Skarmory tilted her head. What was Red talking about? Sure she had felt some discomfort because of the heat, but she'd have sensed certainly sensed it if something had affected her wings. Right?

"You should not have done that," Red muttered, slowly rubbing a hand through the bruised portions, feeling the thin layer of ice deposited on them. Mawile's ability with Ice ran deep, especially for a non-ice-type pokémon.

"You tried to lift yourself up with a Gust attack, didn't you? Don't you know that skarmory cannot learn Gust?" He chastised her softly.

Skarmory screeched defiantly. She wouldn't stand him— trainer or not —to deny her potential. She was a King, of course, she was capable of—

"It's not about you. Skarmory as a species do not Gust." Red explained, silencing her displeasure. "I've had previous experience with an injured Skarmory back at the old man's ranch. Your wings are made of metal, and thus, not ideal for a gust attack. If you try very hard, it might severely injure the tendons in your wing. That was how the other Skarmory had gotten injured."

Skarmory crooked her head. This was… interesting. She hadn't really thought about her own body physiology. It hadn't mattered back then. Her steel armor had been enough to prevent most damages to her person, and that was enough for her. But knowing about her own physiology from a _human _was… odd.

She hadn't expected this.

"Also, rubbing all those shards of metal against each other is bound to produce a lot of friction, which is probably what started the fire in the first case. And then you began to fan it more and more, and produce more heat. That's basically a variant of _Heat Wave_. Unfortunately, using it will do you more harm than good.

Skarmory hissed out, muttering an expletive in her native tongue.

"Do you get a sensation from the inflamed metal tissue?" He removed his finger.

Skarmory shook her head. While her metal coat was actively synthesized by her tissues, the nerves didn't extend into her armor. Beyond her flesh, there were several layers of organo-metallic layers stacked against each other. Unless the attack was significant enough to penetrate that, she generally did not feel pain from attacks. It was one of the reasons why Skarmory wasn't fully aware of the limits of her own body, and was prone to reckless maneuvers.

"Then?"

Skarmory raised her right wing. There, he could see a single, metallic feather that had broken off at the tip, and had gotten stuck among the interweaved matrix that was Skarmory's wing. The tiny metal shard was obstructing the other feathers from moving around with ease, causing additional strain to her wing muscles.

"Ah, wait let me take care of that." Red offered, pushing his arm into Skarmory's wing. Gently, he reached down to the broken metal shard and tried to pull it out.

Nothing happened.

"This will need a bit more force," Red muttered, glancing back at Skarmory. "Can you handle a bit of extra pain?"

Skarmory gave him a look of disbelief.

"...right." Without delay, he tightened his hold on the metal shard with both hands, and pulled—"SKAAAAR!" —it out! The metal shrapnel slashed against his wrist, drawing blood.

"Mawa-wile?" Mawile rushed, sensing his wound.

"Oh don't worry." Red brushed it off, as Mawile blew a little amount of icy wind on it as well. He hissed as he felt the cold brush against the injured tissue, before taking out a handkerchief to keep the wound from getting worse. "I have some ointments in the tent. With a little luck, it'll be back to normal in a minute."

Had he been a little more observant, he'd have noticed that the pain from such a deep wound was conspicuously missing.

* * *

There were several kinds of trainers. The most common ones were the wandering kind, who tried their luck at the gym circuits, and if they got the chance, the conference. After their defeat, they spent their time participating in numerous tournaments and battles, perhaps trying their hand at other regions, before it was time to participate in a conference once again. This was a conventional strategy, and it did give them a steady amount of money, the amounts increasing as they progressed as a trainer and developed a strong team. Usually, a trainer that followed this strategy diligently for a few years ended up being financially comfortable if not more than that.

There were also those trainers who preferred to live and train in the wilderness, embracing the harshness of nature and trying to use the adversity to push past their limits. These tended to be elite-level trainers, who had gained considerable proficiency in battle and were mostly of the freelancer variety— a hired hand of sorts. While some of these trainers did manage to surpass their previous limits and perhaps develop a champion-tier pokémon, most of them ended up as recluses, spending most of their life training before eventually becoming a part of some organization either through agreement or coercion.

The third kind of trainers were the campers. Campers were in general, trainers who couldn't be bothered with— or were too lazy —to travel and follow the life of a conventional trainer. Instead, after gaining a certain level of proficiency in training, a camper would settle down in a particular location and then challenge trainers who passed said location. Viridian City, in particular, had one of the largest camper concentrations in the Kanto-Johto mainland. This was primarily because of the Trainer Square, which provided campers a way to make money in droves, and yet, not have to travel across towns and cities. Needless to say, it was the prospect of making money that drove a camper, not the prospect of building a solid team or winning a conference.

Ken, was not such a Camper. Having long since deserted his family name and title, he had become just himself, a Samurai who had chosen to walk the path of a trainer, leaving his family home in Chrysanthemum Island for good. Along with his starter cubone, he had decided to travel all over the Kanto mainland, challenging other trainers to hone himself. Unlike his father, who had trashed on his beliefs, Ken wanted to show the whole world that he was better. That he was the best trainer amongst them all.

At least that was the plan.

Over time, he accumulated a decent team for himself— a spearow and a pinsir from the forests around Saffron city, and a rhyhorn wandering around Mt. Moon. Ken believed in absolute obedience, and demanded the same from his pokémon. To follow his every command, no matter the cost— That was the law for his team. Things continued according to plan, and soon enough, his spearow evolved into a fearow, and his cubone into a powerful marowak.

Then, he met Gary Oak.

Ken had been happily traveling through Pewter City when he had spotted a trainer with an exotic pokémon. On further inspection, it turned out that the pokémon in question was a Lairon, a steel-type with deep ties with the rhyhorn line. Apparently, Lairon only resided in mountainous areas, and thus, were pretty rare. Finding an opportunity to battle against something like that, Ken challenged Gary to a battle.

The results hadn't been pretty.

It turned out that Gary's exuberant displays of confidence were not in fact, hollow. The teen's lairon and machoke shattered Ken's confidence, inflicting a crushing defeat on his rhyhorn and pinsir. The lairon in question had been extraordinarily vicious and had shattered several of Rhyhorn's bones, while Pinsir had ended up suffering from several contusions.

Rhyhorn and Pinsir had been in the Pewter hospital ever since, and the medical charges for their treatment were massive, especially for someone not actively trying for the gym circuit. Ken had heard about the famous Trainers Square in Viridian, and decided to try his luck there, and gather money to pay for the treatment. Fortunately, the medical staff at the hospital were sympathetic to his situation and allowed him to slowly pay in installments.

Ken had traveled through Viridian Forest after that, catching a rather unruly Pidgeotto for himself, hoping it would provide aid at the Square. Fortunately for him, a second method opened up that allowed him to quickly gather money.

Apparently, most trainers that crossed the Viridian Forest tended to be fairly inexperienced. Being badge-less himself, Ken found it remarkably easy to pose as a rookie and challenge them. It was a rather cheap trick, truth be told, especially considering that he was specifically targeting trainers much less powerful than himself, and therefore, taking undue advantage of their lack of experience. In less than three days, he had already challenged seven people and won over four thousand pokédollars. That was when… he realized that this was his means to acquire quick money.

For his team, of course. He told himself over and over.

That was how, Ken found himself staring at the lone tent along the riverbank, and the inconspicuous shellder lying on the doorstep, with tiny bubbles frothing from its mouth from time to time, and a certain tiny ivory creature with a large black flap, sitting at the edge of the river bank.

Yes, this would adequately do for his next prey.

* * *

Red Ketchum soon found out that the injury would not soon be... back to normal very soon.. Apparently, the organo-metallic alloy that formed the basis of Skarmory's armor also had an adverse reaction against coagulants, and thus, Red had only been able to stop the blood loss after a while.

Mawile had been a complete mess, conflicted between trying to help Red with his wound, trying to get him to a proper medic, and blaming Skarmory for the entire thing. The teen in question had been remarkably level-headed about the entire incident, and once the bleeding finally stopped, Red had asked Mawile to stop worrying, since he'd be fine with some rest. Soon enough, exhaustion and mild disorientation from the bloodloss had kicked in.

Assured that her trainer was properly resting, Mawile had walked out of the tent, but not before instructing Skarmory to guard her trainer while she was out doing… whatever she was doing. Skarmory had agreed easily enough, both in looking after Red and making sure nothing happened to Shellder. The latter was mostly a formality because, after Mawile's recent experiences involving Shellder and her own ill-placed Iron Head attack, she was reliably confident that Shellder's shell was pretty much unbreakable. Besides, Skarmory did seem somewhat guilty at the turn of events and had gladly agreed to play watchdog while Mawile was gone.

For ten minutes, it had been bearable, but Skarmory was an avian, and she found her comfort in being airborne. With a quick glance at Shellder, who had fallen near the doorstep and was busy with… something, Skarmory flew out of the tent, circling high above it, the breeze doing wonders to her mental constitution.

Besides, they were on an empty, grassy ground beside the river. Mawile was out there, sitting and sulking a little far away, and Skarmory, with her remarkably powerful eyesight, was there to ensure nothing would go wrong. What was the worst that could happen?

* * *

Samurai Ken spread the bush apart, observing his latest prey. He did not recognize the ivory-ish creature, though in his defense, he didn't really know a lot about pokémon except the common ones found all over the Kanto mainland, and this strange, tiny creature was anything but that. However, the most important thing was the shellder, and he knew for a fact that shellder evolved into cloyster, which were terrifying. Also, said evolution required the use of an extremely expensive Water Stone, or so he remembered hearing. Therefore, a trainer with a Shellder was a trainer with the means to purchase a Water Stone. In short, a trainer that came from money.

_More than adequate prey..._

That would also explain the non-native creature sitting at the edge of the river bank. From what he could see, it was a cute and cuddly little thing, the sort of pokémon owned by spoilt brats who had more money than they knew what to do with.

_It is my lucky day._

He grabbed the hilt of his wooden bokken, keeping the real metal sword affixed to his back. Yes, this rich little fuck had entered his hallowed hunting grounds and would pay the price for it. Ken could estimate an easy fifteen hundred if not more, given how he wanted it to play it out.

He stepped out of the bush, his bokken in his right hand, and his pokéball ready in his left, should he encounter unexpected problems. A part of him wanted to capture the ivorish creature, if only to sell it at a higher price in Viridian City, but that wasn't something his fraying sense of morality was able to stomach at the moment. So a battle it would have to be.

He raised his bokken and stepped in front of the tent, uncaring of his surroundings. "I am Ken, the Samurai, and I'm here to challenge you for your transgressions." He declared in a loud, slightly exaggerated voice- Something that tended to trigger newbie trainers and get them to accept battles more easily "Come out and challenge me, or lose your life-"

Ironically so, that was the exact moment when Ken the Samurai came inches close to losing his own.

* * *

The sounds from the commotion outside shook Red out of his disturbed sleep. As he tried to open his eyes, he felt an overwhelming pressure on his eyelids, causing him to shut them again. The disorientation took another couple of seconds to pass before he managed to push himself up, distracted by the sounds of— SLAM! SCREECH! "SAVE ME!"—

"What the...?"

"WAK! SCREECH! MAAWA-MAWILE!"

"I try to get an hour of sleep and now this?" Red cursed, before pushing himself to his feet, and running out of the tent.

* * *

The entire place looked like a war zone.

A couple of yards away, there was a fallen teen around his own age, with incredibly long hair that went all the way past his waist, tied into a long, elaborate ponytail. From his attire, he appeared to be someone belonging to one of several traditionalist clans in Kanto and was most likely a trainer himself— or something along those lines. More importantly, he could see Mawile going all feral on the teen, while another tiny pokémon wielding a bone club— a marowak, he realized —was trying to defend against her and Skarmory who was screeching madly and doing her best to pin him to the ground. Shellder was… frothing.

The only reason the teen was still alive was likely because Red's pokémon were not trying to kill him. Thankfully his earlier talk with Mawile seemed to have some effect. Red actually crooked his neck in abrupt fascination for a second, before the impromptu war seized his attention. He glanced at the terrified demeanor of the intruder, and the wooden sword-like thing fallen a little away from his own feet, and bellowed, "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"

That seemed to do the trick. Red's enraged voice seemed to distract both Skarmory and Mawile, both giving higher precedence to his presence than to their unpremeditated battle, and rushed towards him. Mawile was closer, and she leaped in front of him, her jaw raised and facing the marowak, the steel teeth in her jaws still emanating a lethal aura. Skarmory flew above Red and balanced herself above him, occasionally beating her wings to keep herself airborne.

"Keep those monsters away from me!" Ken yelped, standing up and rushing behind Marowak for protection. He glanced at the bokken fallen near Red's feet. "And return my bokken to me."

Red's left eye twitched. "All right, who are you and why were you trying to get into my tent?"

"I am Ken the samurai. I am here to challenge you for your transgressions."

"Don't care," Red responded coldly. "Why did you barge into my tent like a freaking thief?"

"I am a Samurai and it is beneath me to even think of what you suggest," Ken answered defiantly. "You are in my hunting grounds and that gives me the right to challenge you for your transgressions."

_Did I get cursed or something? Or is there something special about me that attracts every moron in the immediate vicinity? Knowing my luck, it's probably the latter._

"Well, this area belongs to Viridian City, and the last time I checked, there are no hunting grounds in or around here. That is the law."

"A Samurai does not bother himself with such meaningless minutia."

Red suppressed his rising urge to smack the teen on the head. For a second he was sorely tempted to let Skarmory and Mawile have their way with him and his equally stupid-looking marowak, before he forcefully calmed himself. "Well obviously, laws are for the _civilized. _That might be a strange concept from… wherever you're from, but..."

"On my honor as a—"

"Zip it." Red snarled. "You trespassed into my property, carrying a bladed weapon and with possible malicious intent. My pokémon were well within their rights to defend me by any means they deemed necessary. So give me one good reason why I shouldn't call the police right now."

"I wasn't trespassing." The other teen refuted hotly. "I was only trying to judge your competence as a trainer. A true warrior always maintains _constant vigilance."_

"And you look around for… 'true warriors'," Red emphasized using air-quotes, glancing down at the wooden sword-like thing, "with a… stick?"

"It's not a stick, it's a bokken. I'm a samurai, and that's my bokken."

"Good to know," Red replied, rolling his eyes. Trust his luck to encounter just another hot-headed fool. Was this going to be a repetition whenever he came within the periphery of a forest?

"And if that vicious bird had not attacked me out of nowhere like that, I'd make sure to go through with my words as well. Speaking of which, me and my pokémon could just as easily defeat that birdie of yours if we knew about it in advance."

"Of course you would." Red didn't even want to continue the conversation.

"Yes, and you'd better remember that."

_Really now? _A smug feeling of pettiness washed over Red. Perhaps it was the blood loss, or nausea, or maybe even a hidden desire to simply cause some pain to this… overexcited, bothersome idiot. "I have a grand idea, through which you can regain your honor as a Samurai, and I don't report you to the police."

"Which is?"

"We battle. Three on three. Five hundred's the usual standard per battle. So a total of fifteen hundred if you win all battles. What does your _honor _say?"

For the first time in his journey, Ken hesitated. It was ironic, since it was _he _who had rushed into the situation, asking for a fight. Now, he was being given a fight, at a high price that too, just as he had wanted in the first place. The question was— would he do it?

From his estimation, that beast of an avian was a steel-type, which meant that it would probably take five strikes from Marowak's bone to cause damage equivalent to a single one. Of course, he was not without pokémon himself. The other, tiny yellow creature was vicious, but her body was soft. Between his fearow and pidgeotto, he was reliably certain he could best the steel-type. Besides, this _was _a spoilt brat. How good could he be?

"Fine." Ken consented. "A three on three standard battle. You _do _have three pokémon on you, right?"

_Why is he— oh. OH. _Red realized. "Yes, I do. They are in front of you."

_So he is including the shellder then. Definitely a newbie._

"Then we have an accord."

_I got you. _Red mentally sneered.

_This day's shaping out to be better and better. _Ken interred.

"Your ID?"

"BWTQ099G," Ken answered. Getting himself registered as a trainer was the last thing he had done before rejecting the Gym route. After his defeat at the hands of Gary Oak, the same ID had been instrumental in providing him legitimacy in pick-up battles.

"That should do." He set up a transaction accord for the upcoming battle, and activated the record function, placing his pokédex on one of the rocks beside the tent. The video record would act as proof in case Ken reneged on the deal after the battle.

Mawile grinned. After the entire experience over the last two days, getting rid of her insecurities, her experience with the Notebook and Red getting hurt, she was itching for a fight. Correction. She was itching to beat somebody up.

"Shellder, you are up." Red proclaimed, and almost instantly, felt two confused stares on his person.

"..."

"Maw!" Mawile yelled in outrage.

"Mor?" Skarmory asked, surprised.

"Well…" Red laughed embarrassed. "Shellder's not showing any improvement with normal training, so perhaps a battle would do him good. I don't even want him to win, just perhaps manage to fire a water gun. Desperation makes us do wonders, the old man used to say."

Shellder squeaked, drenching the grass beneath it with water.

Mawile rolled her eyes. Well, it was not like Shellder knew any battle-worthy moves. It would be a matter of seconds and then the real battler_-_that is herself, would enter the stage.

_Well, I am desperate, so that must count for something. _Red prayed inwardly. "Come on, Shellder. This is a real battle, your first one."

Shellder squeaked.

"Yeah, that's the spirit."

Ken watched the proceedings with fascination mixed with disbelief. Perhaps he was right after all. This was a spoilt brat if he was expecting a shellder to win in a battle. Well then, it would be an easy fifteen. With a smirk, he tossed a pokéball into the air. "Time to fight, Pidgeotto!"

For a Kanto-native like Red, pidgeotto needed no introduction. All you needed was to look up, and chances are high you'd spot a pidgey, if not one of their evolved forms. Back when he was a kid and still tentative friends with Gary, they had made a sport out of throwing pebbles at pidgey in attempts to hit them.

Pidgeotto, in general, weren't that big. Even the largest ones maxed out at about four feet in height. The one Red saw in front of him was barely crossing three, and considering the hint of green on its brown back, it was clear that this was a newly evolved one.

"Shellder, get ready. That pidgeotto is your own opponent." Red claimed, inwardly realizing just how stupid all of this might seem.

Shellder squeaked, but did nothing. The pidgeotto flew in a circle around it, trying to figure out her new opponent. Once convinced that Shellder wasn't about to use some kind of long-range attack, she dropped down to the ground.

"Jo?" The avian chirped in confusion, staring at the silent water-type in front of her. Almost out of curiosity, it pecked it slightly.

Nothing happened.

"Jo?" Pidgeotto barked again. This time, she grabbed Shellder's valve with her beak and rolled it over.

Shellder continued to play dead.

Red sweatdropped. "Shellder use Water Gun."

Said water-type let out a squeak, gurgling as water seeped out of its valves like a broken water bottle, seeping into the ground.

Pidgeotto blinked. Was this for real? Without further ado, it let out a screech and began to furiously peck at Shellder's shell.

WUT! WUT! WUT! WUT!

"Shellder," Red yelled at the water-type, ready to return it back to its ball at the slightest sign of danger "use Water Gun. Now."

Nothing happened. Pidgeotto kept going on and on like a lunatic woodchipper.

"It is not going to do anything. Pick it up and throw it at its owner." Ken laughed.

Pidgeotto was quick to follow suit and dropped its constant pecking. Upon second thought, it should have been alarmed at the sudden tensing of Shellder's valves, but easily obtained victory had a way of silence one's instincts.

* * *

Shellder in general, never really cared about silly things like fighting and winning. No, it had bigger dreams, like trying to create new specimens of Shellder, and filling the world up with Shellder. The bird with obvious anger issues had screeched out and started pecking at him. It was… interesting. Perhaps this bird wanted to know Shellder's secret with Double Team and was being annoyingly persuasive about it? Shellder did not know. So, it did the only thing it could-push itself into the familiar darkness and wait out whatever the bird wanted to do.

The method did have a reasonable degree of success when used against obstinate acolytes.

Shellder ignored Red's asking him to perform Water Gun. It was too engaged in experiencing the reverberating vibrations inside the shell. It made it feel like the world was going in circles. Wasn't this just _fascinating?_

The vibrations grew louder. Perhaps hiding in the shell wouldn't work. Would this stubborn bird go away if Shellder showed her a little of its magnificence? Yes, that should do.

Shellder gurgled, gathering water inside its valves. Initially, it had decided on frothing out a bit, but the consistent vibrations would not allow that to happen. So it would have to be water. Shellder tried to squeal, but the vibrations stopped him. The pressure kept building, but its closed valves kept the water from going out.

_Huh? _Shellder was astounded at the rise in pressure. It made its head go all fuzzy and wuzzy. Wait, was wuzzy a word? Shellder wished the bird would stop pecking at him so that he could ask Red about it. But wait, Red did not speak Shellder-tongue. He was not yet evolved enough to be able to do that. Perhaps Mawile then?

The pecking stopped suddenly, and Shellder felt the incredible pressure inside itself find a slope. _Whoa! _It thought. This was cool. It had never reached this conclusion during its experiments prior to this. Perhaps Shellder could ask Skarmory to—

Pidgeotto lifted Shellder by the valves, which automatically sprung open, and _that _came out.

It wasn't a Water Gun. The volume and water content was much too little. It wasn't a Water Pulse. The pressure was way, way too high for that. What came out were globules of water, shooting under incredibly high pressure and higher speeds, and slammed into Pidgeotto's front, like a wall of bullets. The sheer force was so high that the resulting impact threw the bird pokémon backward, and caused several hairline fractures at the site of injury.

_So that's… _Shellder realized with abrupt fascination, _that's how it's done._

_Experiment successful._

* * *

"HOLY SHIT!" Red murmured, "did that really happen?" Had Shellder, in an epic attack, sent a barrel of tiny water globules at Pidgeotto? In his excitement, he actually edged closer to Mawile and pinched her in the arm. "Mawile, Mawile. Tell me this isn't a dream."

_This isn't a dream! _Mawile scoffed inwardly, yelling back in her own tongue. "_But what the hell did you pinch me for?"_

* * *

Samurai couldn't believe his eyes. A shellder had just injured his pidgeotto_, _in some kind of swift water-based attack that seemed like a water pulse, only miniature in shape and dozens in number. Even for someone with limited experience in pokémon physiology, such as himself was able to come up with several ways in which such an attack could be deemed useful. If only he could get his hands on…

"Choose your next pokémon, Samurai Ken." Red drawled. "By the looks of it, your pidgeotto isn't in battle-worthy condition. I'd suggest returning it."

Ken gnashed his teeth. As much as he'd like to refute the other boy's statement, he was right. Pidgeotto had hit the ground as soon as that sudden attack had hit it. It had probably broken a few ribs as well.

"Return Pidgeotto." He replied, at last, returning the avian. Such a fluke wouldn't happen a second time. "Marowak, show them what you've got. Flukes like that won't save your team from Marowak."

Red grinned. "I know." Without any preamble, he raised his pokéball and returned Shellder.

Ken looked as though he had just been slapped "...what? But Shellder hadn't lost."

"I know. But Shellder forfeits." Red grinned maliciously. "Mawile, you're next."

And Mawile _smiled, _as she gazed at Marowak, her demeanor feral, ready to enter the battle at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	7. Act 1 - Immolation | Chapter 7 - Miss Tea

Misty Waterflower had always been different. That much was certain, and her brash nature and tendency to act before thinking only served to emphasize that fact. The Waterflower family was by no means ancient, having existed for little under a hundred years. Misty's grandfather had been a successful businessman and engaged in the breeding of rare pokémon and selling them at exorbitant prices, making a substantial fortune for himself and his future generations. Her father, Michael Waterflower, had continued the family tradition, but limited the breeding to water-types, being an old student of a former water master named Gregory, the former gym leader of Cerulean City. After spending years under Gregory's tutelage, Michael had taken over the reins of the Cerulean Gym from Gregory, after he died at the early age of forty-one. The years that followed depicted a steady growth of the Waterflower family's power and reach throughout Cerulean, establishing private ranches, aquariums, private beaches, and resorts.

Being the youngest of four sisters, Misty had experienced the positives and negatives that came with the position. On one hand, her elder sisters coddled her, and she tended to end up getting whatever she wanted. On the other hand, it was the constant reinforcement of the fact that she needed to live up to her family name and her elder sisters.

The two eldest siblings, Daisy and Violet, were part of the entertainment industry and made a name for themselves in the show business. Daisy had claimed the position of Kanto Queen twice, while Violet was a leading pokémon coordinator. Her third sister, Lily, was practically a carbon copy of her father and strived to further the Waterflower's traditional business, and at the same time, trained to become the next gym leader. Between the gym, the breeding grounds and trade, and the show business, the Waterflower name was maintained as the most influential name in the entire city.

Misty was different though. She wasn't interested in show-business like her eldest sister, and the prospect of running the family business, or taking over the gym, failed to excite her. Her father had thought that she'd perhaps want to become a trainer and travel or perhaps assist him in the family business, but Misty had shaken those ideas off. She liked pokémon, or rather, water-type pokémon. Scratch that, she adored them. She wasn't too interested in becoming a trainer and putting her pokémon through intense training or bringing them to ridiculously high levels. Instead, she wanted to become a breeder, more specifically a water-type specialist. Someone who instinctively understood water-types, and knew how to breed them, treat them, and take care of them in the most optimal way.

Amused by her decision, her father had sent her to the prestigious Pokémon Tech Academy in Saffron City— an institution that, in crude terms, catered to the needs of the wealthy. She had studied there for three years, and in less than another year, she'd be a graduate, ready to start with her next degree at the medical school, unless she got any other substantial offers.

According to the university, certain water types held significant similarities to bug pokémon such as the exoskeleton of a krabby or a kakuna. Taking great offense to this, Misty had made her displeasure known to her teachers. Vehemently.

Which led her to her current project.

While Misty was sure that this project was created just to spite her, this didn't change the unfortunate fact that their group project now required certain bug species as samples for comparison. For some inane reason, the project leader had delegated the job of capturing the bug-types to her of all people, and so she had been sent off to Viridian City.

* * *

One of the oddities of Viridian Forest was that pokémon above stage two tended to not be seen there, making it far safer than the more uncharted forested regions. Of course, if you strayed off the beaten track, there was always the chance of running into a beedrill nest or if you were really unlucky, some pinsir, but Misty was planning to be careful.

There was only a little problem.

Misty Waterflower _hated _bugs with a passion. Especially the ones that _crawled._ She could stare a gyarados right in the eye and not lose her cool, but a caterpie would send her screaming and running, hands waving in whatever direction her feet took her. Of course, any other person in her place would probably have chosen the sane option and purchased some bug-types from a legitimate breeding center.

Not her.

Apparently one of her big-mouthed friends at the institution had blabbed about it to Violet, who had, in turn, teased her over her fear of bugs. In a fit of anger and a complete lack of rational judgment on her part, Misty had sworn that she'd travel through Viridian Forest by foot, and complete her project. Of course, Violet hadn't really cared, and wouldn't have really noticed even if Misty happened to renege on her promise and choose the saner option, but Misty had made up her mind. She had put it off till the last possible moment, well after the rest of her classmates had finished the project and returned, but she had finally worked up the nerve to enter the forest.

That was how sixteen-year-old Misty found herself walking with her croconaw along the edges of the Viridian Forest, trying to muster up the courage for the seventh time, to walk into the forest, catch those creepy-crawling-hair raising-obnoxious-yucky bugs and complete her project. Every time she had mustered up a little courage and walked forward, she had encountered a caterpie, a weedle or a metapod. Her sudden bout of boldness deserted her, the little courage she had managed to gather vanished and she had run back, screaming like a banshee. Even poor Croconaw was getting tired of it all.

"Damn it, Damn it." The orange-haired girl cursed. "I need to finish this project, and I need to do it now. I can do it. I'll show those bugs that Misty Waterflower can't be frightened away so easily."

"Naw!" Croconaw grunted half-heartedly. He had loudly exclaimed his support the first few times she made this proclamation, but he was getting tired. It would be as doomed to failure as every single one of her earlier attempts, and at this point watching his trainer tiptoe over the forest lining before running back screaming was no longer funny.

"Don't be like that Croconaw. You know I can do this."

Croconaw sighed. He knew she couldn't do this.

"Pfft! Traitor. I'll do it. Just you wait. I'll figure something out."

She probably didn't think she could do it either, Croconaw mused. His trainer likely knew that she had been caught bluffing and was now trying to save face. Her attempts at being subtle about it were worse than a Snorlax. Still, he supposed he might as well support her through her latest delusion— or should that be venture?

"Naw?" He asked, casually wondering if she was going to carry out her next attempt right then. He hoped she'd get done quickly, it was hot and sticky here and he was itching to go for a long swim in the river. It had been almost a week since their arrival in Viridian, and Croconaw was bored out of his mind. He had been showing a hardening of scales and an elongation of his jaws as well as an increase in height. These signs indicated that he was close to evolving. They were however uncomfortable and hard to get used to and this long monotonous period of doing nothing did not help. Crocanaw just wanted to get it over with and quickly evolve into a feraligatr. Feraligatr were huge, spanning over seven feet in height, and could tear through nearly anything. More importantly, evolving would get rid of what his trainer called growing pains. Apparently humans went through them too, though personally Crocanaw through them quite primitive and slow, taking well over 20 years for their evolution to settle in.

"You know what I think? I think we should—"

**SLAM!**

Something slammed into the back of his head with all the force of a Machoke smashing a rock, hurling him face-first into the ground. The black projectile had bounced off his head, and having lost the majority of its momentum, rolled on the ground beside him. Even so, the resulting impact has knocked out two of his teeth, from what he could ascertain, and bruised his right cheek. This wasn't anything permanent, with the totodile line constantly replacing their teeth on a near-weekly basis, but that didn't stop the pain.

"Croconaw! Croconaw, are you alright?" Misty raced up to him, knelt down and tried to pull him up, at the time trying to measure the damage done. "Are you okay?" Then her expression shifted from concern to vexation. "What the hell was that?" She tried to check out at the odd purple thing on the grass beside them from her position.

"Naw!" Croconaw grunted, pulling himself up. Moving around was easier back when he was a silly little totodile, but with evolution came a substantial increase in mass. Over the course of the last year, he had gained a lot of mass, and from what Misty told him, the closer he got to evolution, the bulkier he would get.

_At least when I evolve my strength and endurance will rise in proportion to the gain in mass. This present form is slow and considerably weaker. Being a totodile was much better._

He steadily pushed himself off the ground, with Misty supporting his neck. Grunting twice, he allowed his hands to support him as he moved to a seated posture. His body was heavier than what he presumed, which meant that his body mass must have rapidly increased again. Because his body structure as a croconaw was clearly not meant to carry this much weight, walking was difficult, and the constant changes in size was messing with his balance. For all the power a feraligatr would have, being a croconaw sucked.

_At least I could swim through those water bodies back at the school. Why must she make me walk so much?_

"Are you okay?" The orangette asked, the concern vivid in her voice. "Do you want to return to your pokéball?"

Croconaw shook his head. He wanted to get out of this horrible form. He wanted to swim. But more importantly, he wanted to know what hit him, and who was responsible for the entire mess. He pushed himself up and turned to inspect the projectile.

Misty herself got up, and narrowed her eyes, as she realized what she was seeing. For confirmation's sake, she gently kicked the purple thing over, which rolled over and continued to play dead.

"A shellder?" Misty wondered aloud, staring at the water-type before her attention shifted towards the river. She could make a pretty good guess as to what had happened. Someone must have fished the shellder out of the river, and realizing what it was, had decided to _throw _it away, like a disposable thing.

Somewhere deep, a cold fire burned.

Misty picked the shellder up, and in what appeared to be a knee-jerk reaction, the shellder instantly clamped two of her fingers into its shell.

Had Misty been anyone else, she'd have either pitched a fit or tried to push it away and throw it back into the river. But being a daughter of the Waterflower family— who were active participants in the jewelry industry and actively bred shellder —she recognized it for it was.

_This shellder is used to biting someone's finger. Otherwise, it would have gone for the hair. After all, the thin long strands are quite similar to some of the aquatic plants that shellder tend to chew on._

What had happened? Had someone fished a shellder out of the river, and decided to hold on to it and use it to evolve a slowbro? Slowpoke were rather uncommon, unless you know someone from Azalea Town in west Johto.

Furthermore, Water Stones were expensive and most trainers did not think that the payoff of raising a cloyster proportional to the risk. On evolving, not only would their instincts sharpen dramatically, but their intellect would rise as well. Synthetically-evolved cloyster understood just how much their shells would lack compared to their natural counterparts as well as their size and power and this realization tended to result in an attack on the trainer. The problem was that even if some trainers managed to protect themselves from the raging cloyster, they had no way to ensure its obedience. It could simply hide in its shell and refuse to battle. Of course, even though a synthetically-evolved cloyster lacked the power of a natural evolved one, it was by no means something to wave off. They could quite easily match a charizard or a blastoise, which was why many trainers tried to evolve one despite the inherent dangers.

Perhaps this trainer had held onto the shellder for a day or two, and then decided to throw it away on realizing that neither evolutionary option was viable? Was that it? Was that why this innocent water-type had been thrown away like a disposable item?

That would not do. Not only had this unknown trainer thrown the shellder away without the slightest bit of caution, something that could have seriously injured Croconaw, but he had also committed a crime against a water-type. As far as Misty was concerned, that was equivalent to murder.

"Croconaw," Misty intoned softly, steel shining in her eyes. "We have a trainer to hunt."

Croconaw blinked.

* * *

**Meanwhile…**

"I seriously do not understand what your problem is, Mawile. Shellder is just as much as part of the team as you and Skarmory."

Mawile thought otherwise. She was his starter. She fought off the bratty human and his worthless lizard in the forest, and she was the one that made him… _popular… _was it? Whoever decided to come up with such stupid ideas like fighting without getting food in return anyway? Besides, she fought for him at that Square place, several times she might add— and got him Skarmory. Why her dopey trainer still cared about that stupid thing that wrangled a place by being a mute bastard, she'd never understand.

After the battle with that Samurai fellow, Red had taken some food out of his backpack so they could have a snack before they started out on the journey through the forest ahead. He had even forced Mawile to eat those yucky restore pack thingies to heal the tiny bruises she had gotten from her fight against that marowak, though it didn't even matter, considering that she nearly beat the old crybaby to death with its own bone to boot. Not that the others had any problems with it— Skarmory was predisposed to agree with every word that left Red's lips, and the mute was practically freeloading off Red from the start.

Unluckily for her, no one except Mawile noted this glaring fact. Not Skarmory, and certainly not Red. And therein laid the entire problem.

"You saw how Shellder fought back against that pidgeotto, defeating her. I know you thought he was useless but even you must have noticed that he's improving?"

Yes, Mawile did notice. The mute was only good at one thing, and that was at creating illusions of itself for no reason at all. As if one was not enough. Mawile shuddered at the thought of those illusions ever turned real. The world becoming home to such dumb mutes was practically a nightmare in itself. But yes, she remembered that devastating technique the mute had called upon, sending hundreds of globules of water at alarming speed at the pidgeotto. The avian had been incapacitated before its body hit the ground. Mawile was sure that the bird had suffered multiple bodily fractures if not something worse.

But that wasn't the point. The point was that it was all a _fluke._

Mawile knew it, Skarmory knew it, hell even Shellder knew it, given how it had been unable to replicate the technique a second time, despite hours of vain attempts from her hopelessly naive trainer. Only her dopey trainer had some kind of evergreen giddy optimism that Shellder would become better in the future. Was this some human-made law that she didn't know about? Perhaps she should have spent some more time with that Oak human when she'd gotten the chance earlier.

After the battle with the lanky human and his pokémon, Red had been praising Shellder for hours. Okay, it wasn't exactly hours, but everything went exponential as far as Shellder was considered in Mawile's eyes. It was '_Shellder this, Shellder that'._

Irritating.

She remembered Shellder's lame performance, being tossed around like a pebble, and then somehow winning at the last moment.

This whole mess started when Mawile had lost her patience with Shellder's uselessness and whacked it on its shell. Shellder had vibrated for a second, before lifting its valves, and _sneezing _in her face. What was worse, was that the mute had the audacity to lick her after its degenerate behavior.

Obviously, Mawile had not let it go. Angered, she had gathered steel-energy and slammed Shellder with her best Iron Head attack, sending it flying several yards away. The very next second, Mawile had found herself facing an annoyed Red, who demanded that she help him get Shellder back.

Which brought her to her current situation.

"Wile!" Mawile scoffed, furiously turning over a random rock to see if Shellder was hiding underneath it. Knowing Shellder, it'd probably think it was playing hide-and-seek and had been thrown away to hide from everyone. The sad thing was, it'd probably be good at it, what with its annoying proclivity of acting out it's usual 'look at me happily ignoring that I'm being thrown around.'

Mawile sighed.

Come to think of it, her latest stunt had gotten her into trouble, and the sad thing was, she hadn't even employed deception this time around. Instead, she'd followed the human way, and given in to her urges. It wasn't even like she was being cruel or anything. Mabel had always gone on and on about how one should always listen to their heart.

"Shellder! Can you hear me?" Red yelled, searching through the long grass with a twig, as he kept looking, a shade of controlled hysteria in his eyes. Being a reclusive kid, Red had issues with losing things. Kaz had once teleported a dragonite plush toy away to tease a seven-year-old Red, who had then searched for the toy for four days straight, throughout the house, over and over, until Kaz had gotten it back.

"Mawa...wile?" Mawile kept calling as well, though unknown to Red, she was giving out a significantly different message. Her words could be translated along the lines of — '_hide properly. We are coming to find you!'_

She had apparently done something wrong thing (at least in Red's eyes), and he had punished her by prohibiting her from having poképuffs for the next three days. From her understanding, she couldn't be punished twice for the same incident and therefore Red's reaction on the matter was over. Thus, Mawile had no qualms over going back to her plan and ensuring that Shellder was out of their life for good. She only hoped that Skarmory, who was searching from the sky, would not manage to locate Shellder in time. Either way, perhaps her worry would be for naught. If she was lucky, it was entirely possible that Shellder had fallen into the river and got washed away. Yes, everything would work out _exactly _the way it should.

And just like that, Mawile challenged the Gods of Irony.

* * *

Misty and Croconaw had traveled for around ten minutes along the riverbank, working on the assumption that the shellder's owner hadn't moved, and was still at the same spot from which he had thrown away Shellder. The tall grass in the immediate vicinity made it a little difficult to see very far, but Misty thought that it was as good an assumption as any.

"SHELLDER! SHELLDER, WHERE ARE YOU?"

Misty's ears perked up at that. She had been keeping her ears open for any human voices around, expecting to catch the unsuspecting trainer off-guard. Hearing someone actively searching for Shellder caught her off guard. Was it possible that this trainer had actually lost Shellder— probably during some training regimen and was now looking for it? She hadn't really expected to see a trainer with a shellder though, and cloyster were notorious for their rarity and cruel disposition. Perhaps the truth lay somewhere in the middle of it all, but she'd need to get to the bottom of it.

The water-type deserved that much at least.

"Excuse me?" Misty called out, raising her voice to attract Red's attention. "Are you looking for a shellder?"

"Mawaa...mawawile!" Mawile came in through the thick bushes, still yelling for Shellder to keep hiding, wherever it was. She used her jaw to sweep the tall grasses away, clearing her line of sight, and came face to face with Croconaw, who was staring at her blankly.

"Wile?"

"Naw?" Croconaw questioned sternly, directly getting to the point. He had heard Mawile's constant yelling, telling Shellder that the human was coming for him and that he should hide, and had assumed the worst.

_This human must have been tormenting the shellder. _Croconaw mused. How a human could possibly torment a shellder was an entirely different question, but no one ever accused Croconaw of being a deep and diligent thinker. _Obviously, that is the reason that this… strange creature is asking it to stay hidden._

"Naw? Croco?"

Mawile blinked. Then she glanced at the shellder innocently hanging onto Misty's fingers.

_Traitor_, she decided, _shifting loyalties so soon._ Throwing Shellder away was probably the right thing to do after all. Red was silly and dopey, and so he obviously wasn't able to see how the mute was practically freeloading off him.

She glanced at the orangette again, who was now trying to make conversation with her trainer.

"So, is this shellder yours?" Misty asked as Red rushed up to her, happy to see Shellder safe and sound.

He inspected it for a moment, before nodding in answer. "Yeah, we were training, and had a little… accident."

That confirmed Croconaw's worst fears. As someone who had been a close companion to Misty, he had slowly become influenced by Misty's ideology and truly believed in her goal of getting 'water-types their due from the world'. Mawile's initial proclamation had been a hint, but this… this was practically evidence.

"Training? You were training a shellder?" Misty asked disbelievingly.

"What's so surprising about that? Shellder is part of my team."

Croconaw barked in suspicion, glaring at Red for a moment, before glancing at Mawile again for confirmation.

Mawile, being the deceptive little thing that she was, shared a meaningful gaze with the angry croconaw, before meeting Red's eyes, and shying away, as if afraid to talk to Red directly.

Shellder squeaked.

Croconaw lifted a paw and began loudly accusing Red of being an evil human that tortured Shellder for fun. He hobbled over to Misty and began shaking his head furiously, pointing at Red all the while.

"Huh?" Misty asked, confused by Croconaw's reaction. "What's wrong? You don't like him?"

Croconaw hysterically pointed at Shellder and then back to Red, still shaking his head and grunting offensively. He passed a singular glance at Mawile, who was still being a mortified little thing and would not look at Red at any cost.

"You don't think I should give Shellder back?"

_Finally._

Croconaw felt elated, barking in affirmation, glancing at Mawile who just would not look at him either. What was wrong with that pokémon? Did her trainer treat her so badly that she wasn't able to speak properly when he was around?

"Uhm, is something wrong?" Red asked, a little wary of the water type's behavior. Almost by reflex, he took out his pokédex and scanned the creature in front of him.

**Croconaw. The big jaw pokémon. It is the evolved form of totodile. Once its jaws clamp down on its foe, it will absolutely not let go. Because the tips of its fangs are forked back like fishhooks, they become irremovable once embedded.**

"Totodile," Red mused, "Doesn't sound like a Kanto pokémon."

'Johto." Misty answered, maintaining a wary eye on Red, after her starter's reaction. "Why is Croconaw so wary of you? Have you been mistreating your pokémon?"

"Mistreat— what the hell are you talking about?" Red retorted indignantly. "Listen, whoever you are, just give me back my shellder."

Misty fumed at that. "My name is Misty. And no, I'm not giving you this water-type just so that you can abuse it again."

"Listen Tea," Red countered, "I have no idea why your… croconaw," he remembered the name after a second, "dislikes me, but Shellder is my pokémon. Where on earth did you get the idea that I was abusing him? We were just training."

"Prove it. And my name is Misty. Are you deaf as well as stupid?"

Red stared at the girl. Was she for real? Did she insist that everyone she met prefixed her name with Miss? First the Samurai and now this, it was almost as if these weirdos went out of their way to seek him.

"Fine. Miss Tea, then. How do you want me to prove it? That I wasn't torturing the poor innocent little shellder?" Red challenged. Finding Misty unable to come back with an answer, he continued, "And more importantly, why do I need to prove myself to you? That's my Shellder, and I can take it back anytime."

He was done trying to explain himself to this orangette, and her distempered croconaw. Without further delay, he plucked out Shellder's pokéball from his belt and held it in front of his hands—

"BLUH BLUH BLUH BLUH!"

"What the hell?" Red yelled, finding himself completely drenched after receiving a small jet of water to the face. This was the second time he had been soaked in the past week alone. Really, first electric-types and their desire to zap him, and now water-types and their obsession with drenching him. He really didn't want to know how steel-types would behave with him. So far Mawile and Skarmory had been good, but no one knew the future.

"Why did it do that? What kind of trainer are you, unable to control your own pokémon?" He accused.

"Don't speak like that about my croconaw!" Misty retorted, taking offense at his comment. "Croconaw has done nothing but consider a fellow water type's plight. Obviously you have been mistreating Shellder to make him react like that!"

"Mistreating a— How do you even mistreat a shellder?" Red asked, half-bemused, and half-irritated. He was getting tired of trying to explain himself to this dim-witted girl and her crazy pokémon. "Listen, I'm willing to forgive and forget that attack from your croconaw, but even you should know that a pokémon attacking a trainer is against the law in Kanto. Now return my shellder to me. Right now"

Misty hesitated a little, knowing that there was some truth behind his words. While it had been a mild Water Gun, the right person could blow it out of proportion. While there was little to no chance of winning such a case against a family as influential as the Waterflowers, it could spread rumors about them bullying rookie trainers.

"Croconaw might have been a little over-eager," she began with a diplomatic tone, "but his concerns are no less true. I cannot, in all honesty, return this shellder to you, knowing that Croconaw practically called you an abusive trainer."

Red blinked. Then blinked again.

"...what?" she asked.

"Nothing." He replied after a moment, "just considering the ludicrousness of the situation. You, Miss Tea or whatever, are voluntarily preventing my pokémon from returning to me?"

"..." For once, Misty had no words to say. Perhaps, she hadn't thought this entire thing through?

He held out his hand. "My shellder please, or else I'll have to report you, and trust me, I've dealt with… hyper-excited trainers before. It didn't exactly turn out well."

Mawile was now beginning to feel slightly aggravated now. As much as she wanted to get rid of Shellder, it seemed that destiny was against her in this particular endeavor. She had tried to throw it away when it had first clamped into Red's hair by the river. She had tried to show it up when mastering Double Team, but apparently Shellder was some kind of freaky savant at it. She had fought, given her sweat, blood and tears (mostly due to Shellder), and yet the little mute managed to hang to its position on the team. Now, even after that powerful Iron Head attack, Shellder was almost… magically being given back to Red. If someone was trying to teach her a lesson on trying to be less stubborn, it was probably working.

And now this croconaw had used an attack on Red. It had been a harmless Water-gun, but it had been an attack. Mawile had ignored it because of its comedic timing but the matter was slowly getting out of hand and if she didn't do anything, perhaps Red would be involved in another needless fight. Or worse, Shellder would show off again, and become Red's favorite.

Mawile didn't think she'd be able to stomach that.

Croconaw, it seemed, had something different in mind. Supremely confident in his observations gathered from Mawile's behavior, and considering how this human was speaking rashly with his own trainer, he was quite certain that he knew the truth of the situation. Mawile was being treated badly. Shellder was being treated badly. This trainer was abusive. And abusive humans were bad. Period.

Croconaw leaped in front of Misty, for once ignoring his weight. "Croc!" He grunted angrily.

"Return your croconaw, or else I'll be forced to hurt it. My pokémon are not so forgiving."

"As if someone like you could even stand a chance against my croconaw." Misty fumed, inwardly wondering if this situation had turned into something unpleasant.

"You want to find out?" Red asked dangerously "Skarmory!"

There was a loud screech above them, as the massive avian swooped down towards Red, causing Misty to shriek in fear. Skarmory flew over to Red's side and screeched loudly, beating her wings every now and then to keep herself airborne.

"This psycho just stole Shellder." Red declared.

"How dare you call me that! I'm Misty Waterflower, and a future water-specialist to boot."

"Croco!" The water-type guarded her with his body, ready to fight off against the avian if need be. He was sure of it— the mawile was being abused, and so was the shellder. Perhaps this human was using this large, cruel-looking bird to do his bidding?

Conflict seemed imminent.

"Mawa… mawile!" Mawile yelled, raising her hands in a rush, her tone aggravated, and her jaw raised upward. So far it had been funny, but Red's health was at stake. Besides, she had no qualms about throwing this croconaw to the wolves. It was hardly Mawile's fault that the stupid thing had decided to act on her words without further confirmation. She didn't even know him. It was probably for his own good that he was a trained pokémon. Things that dumb didn't last long in the wild.

"Naw?" The big-jaw pokémon asked in confusion. He had _seen _the creature— Mawile, he presumed from her words —indirectly admit that the human with her was rash and had mistreated Shellder, and possibly even herself. Then why was she trying to save her trainer now?

"Naw! Croconaw!" He grunted back, as if to confirm his suspicions. Was she really supporting her trainer? Or was she perhaps under duress? Regardless he'd have to fight, even against her if needed, but throwing the poor shellder into the hands of an abusive human was not an option.

Mawile didn't care. It didn't matter that she had hoodwinked the croconaw in the first place. Anyone that stupid should be taken advantage of. That was practically a rule in her book.

Shellder squeaked, and all of a sudden, loosened its grasp on Misty's fingers, before dropping on the ground. A few seconds later and it was attached to Red's fingers.

"..."

"..."

Red sweatdropped.

"...Uhm, could we start over?" Misty asked.

Mawile groaned.

* * *

**Somewhere in Pewter**

"Get up and try again. I've no time for wimps who can't even stand two punches." The gritty coach spoke, his voice filled with casual disdain. "And you say you've filled in for a year of service? You'll be dead before the week is over."

Ritchie coughed, before spitting out some blood. Again.

His stomach felt like one big bruise and the first punch to the chest had nearly sent him reeling over, coughing up a bit of blood. The second punch landed on his cheek, throwing him to the ground and disorienting him. When Mickey had told him how hard it was for a trainee to become a grunt, Ritchie had been sure the man was exaggerating. After all, how difficult could a month of training be? He was a three-badge trainer, with a full team of six, and on top of that, he had a powerhouse of a Raichu. He had expected to be practically awarded a grunt position the moment he stepped in.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Apparently, the trainees were sent to a particular location in Pewter City, simply known as the 'Quarters'. There were a total of forty of such trainees, himself included, who were expected to stay there for the next three to four weeks while trying to become a grunt. The moment Ritchie stepped in, he felt like he was entering a whole new league, with a new set of trainees to beat, only instead of trying to become champion, they were competing for the grunt position, and perhaps other more senior positions. Information was practically on a 'need-to-know' basis, but Ritchie did manage to infer a few things about Team Rocket's hierarchy.

These 'Quarters as they were called, were sprawled all across Kanto. These were used as places of recruitment and training, where Team Rocket gathered aspiring groups of potential grunts in groups of forty. Every such group had a coach assigned to them, who ensured hellish training on the trainees until they qualified as a grunt. Ten people would be chosen out of them, and made into grunt captains, with each captain leading a team of three. Until that happened, every trainee was on his own, living, and healing his pokémon with his own money. Once someone made it to the grunt stage, they'd be sent for what their teachers referred to as 'The Inauguration'_, _whatever that was. Ritchie didn't quite know the details, but he was sure that it was a pretty big secret. Also, a trainee had at most _one month _to become a grunt. If the trainee failed to make the cut, he would be subject to a powerful psychic and have his memories of the entire month removed. After that, the trainee usually found themselves in a government hospital or something. At least, that's what he was told.

Another surprising aspect of the training was the diversity of trainers amongst the group. There were two Unovan, and five Hoenn natives living and training with him. Ritchie was unfortunate enough to be pitted against one of the Unovans, who had a strange ground-type that eerily reminded him of a Totodile, only thinner, browner and uglier.

Over the last three days, each of the trainers had been matched with every single one of the other trainers at least once. Ritchie had only been able to win around twenty percent of his battles. His taillow wasn't able to use any version of Peck, and thus, had been defeated several times. Even Sparky had suffered a humiliating defeat against the Unovan's ground-type, a krokorok or something from what he could understand. Zippo was clearly not healed enough to be battling, and thus, Princess had to take over most of the battles. Ritchie had thanked whatever deities were watching him that Princess had been the least injured back in Pallet Forest. Else, there was no way he'd have managed his current, admittedly pitiful performance.

That was when they were told about the second part of their _training._

Hand to hand combat.

Ritchie had paled at that.

As it turned out, the trainees weren't actually supposed to fight each other per se, but demonstrate a bare minimum affinity for combat, as well as a minimum endurance factor. They weren't supposed to fight each other either. Instead, they needed to survive for a single minute against their coach. If they remained standing they passed. If not, they could return to practicing by themselves, or leave the arena.

And that was how he had arrived at his present situation.

The coach (or demon in human skin, if you asked him) allowed his prey to stand up again, smirking as Ritchie tried to balance his wiry frame, ignoring the punch to the stomach that had caused him to double down in pain. He loved his job, since it allowed him to beat the shit out of these grunt-wannabes until they either developed enough skill to either fight back or enough resistance to stay awake until the one-minute duration was over.

"I'm not giving up." Ritchie frothed, trying to remain balanced. He somehow managed to pull himself up, trying to keep away the disorientation that threatened to envelop his mind. Shaking his head like a Growlithe, Ritchie kept his eyes on the coach, before yelling out and driving a fist into the man's face.

Or so he attempted.

"Huh!" The coach grinned. "Got some juice still left in you."

He casually clenched Ritchie's fist with one palm, before slamming another punch, this one to the abdomen, causing the boy to spit out some more blood, splattering it upon the man's face.

Unfortunately, this only managed to make him angrier. And the coach was not a good man to meet when angry.

He kicked Ritchie again in the chest, causing the boy to flail in pain, uncaring about his condition. "Listen brat," He grabbed Ritchie by his collar, glaring at his half-closed eyes, "I'm only good at one thing, and what I'm good at is not very good. So either you learn to face me, or you learn to endure it. You," He shook the boy, "are failing at both, and your performance in battle is abyssal. You either get better fast or you die trying. And remember, one month is all you have."

Without any further consideration, he threw the bleeding and frothing boy to the side, allowing the pair of medics standing ready to drop him on a stretcher and take him away.

"Now, who's next?" The coach grinned.

* * *

**Back in Viridian**

"Let me get this straight. You are from Cerulean City, and you are here in Viridian to catch bug pokémon?"

Nod.

"And you need these… bugs, because of a project from your school?"

Another nod.

"And you don't want to… I don't know, just buy them from some ranch or something?"

More nods.

"Because of some ridiculous incident that you cannot share?"

The nods continued for the fourth time.

"Then what stops you from going into the forest? You even have a remarkably obedient pokémon," Red slurred at the end, "well, one with obvious anger issues, but obedient nevertheless."

"Because I. Hate. Bugs."

"Right," Red muttered, once again wondering just how his luck kept on making him encounter all these strange people. Or was it perhaps the world itself was strange? Then again, he had started out by getting electrocuted, and then barely survived negotiating with a fearow in Pallet Forest, so perhaps a certain amount of insanity was required to become a trainer in the first place.

"Right," Red continued, trying to think of less depressing topics." so why exactly are you telling me all of this?"

"Because…" Misty started, wondering how to approach the issue. It was obvious that their mutual first impression couldn't have been worse, something that had her embarrassed. Doubly so, since she had been the one in the wrong the whole time, carried away in her self-righteous dogma. Come to think of it, Croconaw could've gotten into some serious trouble had Red actually taken it to the police. The Waterflowers were a big influence back in Cerulean, but this was Viridian, and more importantly—

Samuel Oak was his sponsor. Samuel fucking Oak.

Strangely enough, the boy seemed to not have attached much importance to this fact. If anything, he seemed to wear his connection to Oak rather lightly and had only mentioned it in passing during their conversation. If she didn't know any better, she'd have called him a master politician, inconspicuously backing down, only to reveal an ace at the last moment to turn the tables over.

And a direct connection to Samuel Oak was pretty much the ultimate ace anyone could pull, as far as Misty was concerned. No gym leader, type-master, police officer, or even Elite Four member would take her case if he decided to take Red's side in a legal argument. She wasn't even sure if her own father would be able to balance the scales should someone like that entered the equation. Diplomacy had never really been her strong suit, which was probably why Michael had never pushed her into the family business, but this situation, as unfortunate as it was, required a little tact.

"Firstly," she lifted her head and regarded him with an imperious expression. "My name is Misty Waterflower."

"Yes, Tea, I know that," Red muttered offhandedly.

_Just how dense are you, man! _Misty suppressed her irritation from seeping through her tone. "It's not Miss _Tea, _it is Misty. Like, M-I-S-T-Y, Misty. Misty Waterflower. Got it now?"

"...err, yeah, got it," Red muttered. "I thought you are one of those overbearing— I mean, people who prefer to have an extra honorific prefixed to their names."

_Right. _"No, I'm not."

"So now that we have _provisionally _gotten past the misunderstanding over your name, can we get back to the issue at hand?"

Misty blinked. "..."

"I meant, why are you telling me about your sad life history as a bug-catcher."

Misty suppressed a primal urge to slam a punch at his atrocious behavior, but suppressed it. It would not do. This was someone with a connection with Samuel Oak, and considering that he was able to tame a powerful skarmory of all things, this was exactly the person she needed for the job.

She took a deep breath. "I want you— I mean, I need you to catch those bugs for my project, and I'm scared of them, so I was wondering if you could catch them for me."

Red blinked. "You want… me to catch bugs for you?"

"Yes."

"Bugs from the inside of Viridian Forest?"

"Yes." Misty wondered if Red would just get to the point.

"And then come all the way back to hand over my freshly caught bug pokémon?"

"Huh?" Misty muttered, "Wait, you've got that wrong. You don't have to get back to me. I'll travel with you."

Red tilted his head to rest it on his left shoulder. This was the same girl who, not very long ago, had no qualms over setting her croconaw over him, blinded in her zeal for Shellder's safety. And now she wanted to travel with him— alone, through Viridian Forest of all places.

"Not worried I'd try to abuse you like Shellder?"

Misty blinked.

"Wait, that came out wrong. I mean, you just accused me of a pokémon abuser, and now you want to travel with me through Viridian Forest, which can take weeks to cover by the way, all by yourself? Knowing that you hate bugs?"

Misty looked at him sheepishly. "I did apologize for that, didn't I?"

'No, you said you wanted to start over." Red replied, knowing full well that he was being more than a little petty here. "Anyway, what kind of bugs do you need?"

Misty blinked again before comprehending his words. Her face lit up brightly, making Red wonder how a girl— around seventeen years of age, Red guessed—could be so… impulsive. Then again, apart from his mom, Felina Ivy, and Daisy, Red's experience with females older than himself was practically zero.

"Of course!" Misty replied exuberantly, taking out a notebook from her bag, that was tied across her waist like a belt. Shifting through the pages, she quickly found what she was searching for. "I need… a ledyba—"

"Those will be difficult. They aren't that common. I doubt we can even see those in the outer regions of the forest."

"A spinarak."

"Not making it easy, are you?" Red went on with his commentary.

"A pineco,"

"—without them exploding." Red sighed.

"And finally a venonat." Misty finished.

"Why don't we try to catch a scyther or a pinsir too for good measure?"

Misty frowned at his sarcastic comment but kept to herself. Showing indignation while trying to ask for help wasn't a good idea. Besides, even she knew just how difficult acquiring them would be. Not in terms of strength, but because bugs were good at hiding, and the forest was practically their domain, and none of the four she specified would be found loitering around on the outskirts of the forest. With a sigh, she replied, "Well, that is all. Those four bugs are all I need. So, does that mean you'll help me?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely…."

Misty beamed at that. To be honest with herself, she had no clue if Red was even a trainer strong enough for the job. Then again, none of the bugs were very strong by themselves, just hard to catch, and more importantly, her own team was there to aid as well. All he needed to do was to be with her and act as a wall to those creepy, crawling bugs.

"So you mean you'll help?" She exclaimed.

"Of course not" Red beamed at her.

Misty almost felt her jaw drop to the floor. "What? Why?"

"You want a reason?" Red asked, his displeasure open on his countenance. "Let me see, you try to keep my own pokémon from me without reason, and then your pokémon attacks me and you defend its actions. And now, you want me to travel into the deeper parts of the Viridian Forest to get you bugs— mind you, the same Viridian Forest that takes over a week to cross by taking the straight road along the edges? We'd be lost in there for weeks, and neither me nor my pokémon are up for that kind of magnanimity, so… Sorry!" He shrugged his shoulders in apathy.

Misty scowled at that. "You're just too scared to travel into the forest?"

Red narrowed her eyes. Did she really think he'd fall for that? "With good reason. I have no reason to travel into the deeper stretches of the forest filled with hordes of beedrill and other aggressive bug types."

_Two can play this game. _He mused inwardly.

"No," he replied with an exuberant shake of his head. "There is no reason for me to do so. I think I'll start out from the edges of the forest."

Now, this was not quite what Red had in mind. In truth, he wanted to explore the deeper expanses of the forest, and perhaps catch a bug-type pokémon. Despite their notoriety as poor performers in competitive battling and leagues, bug-types did have a vast array of moves that could be used in all sorts of unconventional ways. Pinsir, for example, were overwhelmingly strong, and their powerful horns were known to be able to crush golem. Beedrill were frail, but they were venomous and fast. Furthermore, any competent rookie could evolve a weedle to a beedrill within a month, their ridiculously fast evolutionary cycles being another benefit of the bug typing. And that was not considering the other, more dangerous bug-types that were rumored to run abound in Viridian Forest.

"Well, see you then." He jerked his head in casual acknowledgment, before turning to Mawile, who had a snobbish smile plastered all over her face. "Let's go Mawile."

"Mawa…"

"Wait, wait," Misty yelled, her mind running into overdrive. " I'm not asking you to do it for free. I'm willing to pay you."

Red paused at that. "How much?"

Misty quickly did a mental calculation. "Eight thousand." It was a decent bargain, and besides, the ranch would charge her more than that. Even a Magikarp cost three hundred at a Ranch. The uncommon bugs would cost a hell lot more, and besides, Lily would probably demand a psychic-verification of the events. Also, she couldn't help but agree with his claims as well. There was simply no point in wasting weeks catching bugs for someone.

_Still… couldn't he have been like those brawny, enthusiastic trainers at the academy. They would practically be tripping over each other for a chance to help?_

Red thought it over. Eight thousand was a lot of money. He still had a little over fifteen thousand saved from the Square, even including the fact that he had paid for the drain on his mom's investment of eight thousand. That, and he had gotten himself some impulse purchases after winning the battle against Ashley. Of course, that was excluding the roadside battles. Those weren't interesting, but they did guarantee a constant influx of cash. As he stood now, he could easily capture another pokémon, and still not have to worry about expenses till he was at least at Cerulean City. In all probability, he'd likely make even more from the battles on the road.

But, accepting this girl's offer would mean something else. Sure, it would set him back a week or two, but the Indigo League was less than three months away, and winning eight badges before then would be a pipe dream. The next conference was eleven months away— more than enough time for him to catch up. And more importantly, the extra cash could be spent in getting Mawile and Skarmory an intermediate-tier move, something to boost their skills.

Besides, given the way the girl spoke about Shellder and the fact that she had a croconaw, implied that she was somewhat knowledgeable in raising water-type pokémon. Perhaps he could use some of that to help with Shellder.

"Misty…" Red spoke carefully, "You seem to pretend to know a lot about water-types."

Apparently that was a wrong thing to say.

"Pretend?" Misty blew up again, "I am not pretending. I do know a lot about water-types in general, and have been studying them for years."

_Yup, she can be goaded pretty easily, though this was a bit crude. I need to get better at this. _Red mused. _So, she's training to be a type-master specializing in water. I might be able to use that to help Shellder. Besides, I was going to go in either way, and this serves her right for letting that croconaw attack me like that._

He conveniently ignored the traitorous part of him whispering that he was simply being petty. Perhaps Mawile had been a bad influence on him?

Meanwhile, Mawile was observing the ongoing conversion with a vacant expression on her face. Red was hardly one for subtlety, but it seemed that even a dopey human like him could learn new tricks. Perhaps he had been observing her and trying to copy her mannerisms and deceitful charms?

Mawile took a moment to bask in that realization.

"You do?"

"Yes," The orangette snapped back. "I am studying to be a water-specialist, so keep your baseless accusations to yourself. Now I'll ask you again. Will you help me or not?"

Red's eyes shone with triumph. "Alright, I'll do it."

Mawile rolled her eyes. _Amateur_. She thought. Seriously though, how dopey could Red be? Nobody accepted the first price. If she was the one bargaining, she would have gotten triple that. She couldn't even count the number of poképuffs she had scammed off Red. He should have learned better by now. From what it seemed, even Shellder was a better student than Red would ever be.

"Eight thousand to accompany you and hunt for those bugs AND you'll help me teach Shellder Water Gun."

Misty was almost about to hurl expletives, but his words screeched her thoughts to a halt. "You want to teach a shellder... Water Gun?"

"He's almost got the hang of building up the pressure, but he lacks precision. His water content is also awfully low." Red admitted.

_And that's how it's supposed to be. _Misty mused. _It's a shellder, not a freaking squirtle. They are supposed to lay low until they evolve, or are forced to evolve._

She would know. Her family had an entire jewelry business based on those bivalve pokémon. But it seemed, Red didn't know about it, possibly from his own lack of knowledge about the shellder species. Was he trying to teach it moves out of ignorance? Perhaps he was thinking it would randomly evolve mid-battle once it was strong enough?

"It's a shellder, you know," Misty said, deciding to speak with a lower tone. "It doesn't exactly have the predisposition or the proper affinity to learn those moves very well."

"I know exactly what it is," Red murmured, before looking up at her. "But I want to help it grow stronger. I know what I'm doing. Besides, I think I have a way to deal with his lack of water reserves_. _It's something Shellder did as a result of its training so far."

"Fine, I'll see what I can do to help." She sighed, inwardly wondering if she was making a good deal or an extremely bad one. Besides, he was thinking about the water type's benefit and wanted to make it stronger. It was adorably naive, and not very practical, but she could deal with it.

"Alright then, Misty, I believe we have a deal"

Misty frowned at the hand stretched out in front of her.

"Well then, I was planning on leaving immediately, after purchasing some rations and ingredients from the stores on the way. I'm told there's an outlet at the end of the route?"

"There is," Misty answered. "I've been to it during my… previous attempts into the forest. We should get some bug spray. A lot of bug spray. And repellants and lots of extra food too, because the forest is larger on the inside than on the outside— don't know what that means but it has to be something because of the bugs, and oh, what else am I forgetting?"

Red stared at his newest travel-partner and accomplice. Though, come to think of it, the word 'employer' would probably fit better than accomplice, even though she was going to travel with him and aid him whenever needed.

"Guess we never run out of odd people crossing our path, do we?"

Mawile sighed.

* * *

**Meanwhile in Pallet Town**

Delia Ketchum turned off the stove, allowing the newest addition to their family— a Mr. Mime, to raise the frying pan off, before psychically raising the pancakes and putting them on the plates with perfect precision. Delia had initially been somewhat wary of having a new psychic in the house, but Mr. Mime's culinary abilities and its causal command over the kitchen had gone a long way to settle her doubts. The psychic had been working for Felina for over four years now and had occupied the position of a housekeeper for Felina and her assistants. With Felina suddenly leaving for a research convention in Saffron City, she had asked him to _hire _Mr. Mime for her instead. Apparently, Mr. Mime had _issues _over being 'unemployed', whatever that meant.

"Mia!" She yelled, "Breakfast is ready. Come down before it gets cold."

Usually, her proclamation would cause Mia to leave whatever work she had at hand— that being dancing nine times out of ten —and race to the tiny dining room that they had for themselves. Back when Red was home, it was almost a competition between the two of them, trying to beat each other to lunch. Now though…

"Mia?" Delia yelled again, louder this time.

Still no response.

"What the hell?" Delia wondered. Ever since she had returned from the Seafoam Islands, she had noticed a subtle change in Mia's demeanor. As a psychic-type researcher, Delia was no stranger to the mood-shifts and eccentricities of the so-called 'all-knowing-ones', as Kaz liked to put it. But this was different. Mia was sad because Red had left on his journey, that much was obvious, but happy emotions around her tended to displace any lingering negative thoughts or emotion from her. In a way, the Ralts line was literally programmed to thrive amidst positive emotions. Even the slightest positive vibe could drown out a week's worth of sorrow from them. And Mia was no exception.

That said, something had shifted within her. While she had initially appeared to be happy most of the time, only showing the occasional bout of sorrow whenever she happened to enter Red's room, Delia had noticed the undercurrent of a strong, lingering melancholy in her. It was almost like Mia had begun to love whatever tinge of sadness she had kept within herself, and was unwilling to let it go no matter what. She would still sing and dance around, and yet, when she thought that no one was watching, she'd stop her movements and just gaze at the ground, or frown at the sun, almost as if displeased by them. She still appeared as happy-go-lucky as ever, but unlike before, her happiness dissolved into a silent, emotionless smile.

The kirlia had learned to fake happiness.

It hadn't been this serious when Red had initially left for his journey, but something had changed over the last couple of days, that had made the kirlia into this… ironic caricature of her true self. When she asked Kaz what he thought about it, Delia had been shocked by Kaz's answer.

'_Her smile reminds me of the silver plate on a coffin.'_

"Mia it is then," Delia paused, before deciding to walk out of the kitchen, and walked past the main door. Glancing towards her extreme left, she found Mia sitting down in front of the broken window— a rather nostalgic part of her home, and the one that Red and Mia had apparently broken _again_ when he was trying to leave without her knowing. Delia had tried to repair it several times since then, but it always broke off before the day was over.

Delia had a sneaking suspicion about who was behind it.

Red wasn't there, and Mia wanted everyone to know it. Things weren't the same, and Mia, wanted everyone to acknowledge it.

Delia calmly walked up to the silent fairy, before sitting beside her, her legs folded in front, mimicking Mia's own posture. "Everything okay?"

"Liii." She sounded, her answer sounding more like a careless grunt than an acknowledgment.

'I know this must be hard on you, with Red being away on his jour— " Delia paused, her words dying in her throat, as Mia twisted her neck, and gave her a hard stare. It was unlike the soft and cheerful gaze that practically emanated brightness. Instead, it was cold and calculating, a look that Delia had never seen on her face before.

And then she felt crippling sorrow. She remembered Red staying back at home, all by himself while she was away working at the lab. She saw Red sitting in his room, or working at the Ranch because the other kids preferred Gary to him, while Delia was away, collaborating with Ivy over some research problem. She saw Red feeding Mia with his own hands, and Mia twirling and dancing in between. She saw Mia peeping on Red as he got himself cut while out on some errand, before bending down to try to stop the bleeding, fail to do so, and then casually return to work ignoring it all. She saw Mia just sit there in the dark corridor as Red stayed comatose inside the hospital ward. She felt the sheer, agonizing, mind-bending horror as the yellow electric rodent sent thousands of volts of electricity into—

Mia looked away.

Delia blinked, as her eyes filled with tears. It took her a few seconds to reorient herself and to get ahold of these… emotions. A part of her that she was desperately trying to ignore knew what Mia had just done, and could vaguely guess at what her intentions might have been. It knew the underlying message Mia had sent without her even saying a single word. It knew that whatever Mia was feeling, it all stemmed from Red, and partly, from whatever happened after that. It knew that kirlia were creatures of joy, and being in a state of constant sorrow was anathema to them. It knew that Kirlia screamed anything but normal.

But Delia didn't react to that part of her. The memories, the pain, the emotions, the constant absences, and the raw pain— It made her want to run away in fear from Mia. It made her want to curl up and cry. Some part of her wanted to admit her own faults and repent. But she did none of that.

"Mia…" Delia started gently as she reached out towards the kirlia.

"Li," Mia grunted again, before a gale of silvery winds blew around them, causing Delia to momentarily duck her face behind her arms. By the time she opened her eyes, Mia was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	8. Act 1 - Immolation | Chapter 8 - Red and Misty's Bug-Catching Adventure

"You're doing it wrong. If you keep waving that pen around like that, you'll probably gouge someone's eye out."

Red felt his left eye twitch. It was a rather familiar feeling, considering the number of times he had felt it twitch, irritated at his compatriot's comments. Apparently, while Misty was afraid to step into a forest full of bugs, she had absolutely no problem in proclaiming herself captain the moment she got anyone to follow her lead.

Not that Red had any wish of becoming the girl's minion or whatever. The money had changed hands before they had stepped into the shadowed expanses that was Viridian Forest since it was pretty much given that even a caterpie could send the great Misty running for her life. In return for fifteen hundred pokédollars, he had practically sold off his happiness for the next week or possibly more. Mawile was inordinately displeased with the fact if the scowls she sent his way were of any indication.

"I'm just trying to plot our way through the entire area. Surely, you aren't expecting me to just keep traveling like some incompetent idiot, and hope that these…" he pointed at her diary, "pokémon will magically show themselves to us?

"Of course not," Misty defended her position. "But this forest is filled with bugs, and it is clearly given that pineco hang on trees. There are… " she waved her hands around, "lots of trees around. Trying to find this apparent pineco colony just because some bumbling fool pointed it out on a map, is not reason enough to travel to the insides."

"Oh, so you'd rather make us walk along the periphery of the forest in the vain hopes of catching your beloved bugs—"

"They are not my beloved bugs!" Misty retorted, her face scrunched in horror by the mere accusation.

"Don't care!" Red barked. "The map clearly shows that this section is rich in Elder berry trees, and Elder berry has the sweetest sap. Pineco hang on trees rich in sweet sap. Inference— We'll find pineco there."

"You made that up."

Red's right eye twitched. "Did I now? I suppose you'd know, what with being a bug-type specialist and everything."

"No, I'm not." Misty snapped, "and neither are you. How can you be so sure that-?"

"I've practically lived in Professor Oak's ranch all my life. I know the pokémon in there, and their habits and habitats. You paid me to help you catch these pokémon, not be your bodyguard."

Misty sneered back at him. "I didn't ask you to be my bodyguard either. I've got Croconaw for that."

Red sent a fleeting glance at the actively snoring creature less than one yard away from him. Considering that they had their lunch over two hours ago, he'd have to assume that it was a heavy sleeper.

"And he is obviously doing a marvelous job at that."

Misty let out an incomprehensible 'buh!' but left it at that.

"Well," Red replied sagely, "now that we have provisionally agreed on the fact that my job is in fact, limited to catching those four bugs, it is up to me to decide on our path"

Misty blinked.

"Right, back to planning." He spread out the map over the canvas floor. "We've been traveling all day, and it got us nowhere. So from now on, we'll start locating areas where we have a higher probability of finding your bugs and travel accordingly. These sections," he pointed out, "have a dense growth of Elder berry trees—"

"According to a year-old estimate," Misty muttered under her breath. "But ignore me, I'm just a novice and you're the arborist."

Red ignored that. "We'll start looking for pineco, and I'll thank you not to scream when we're there." Ignoring Misty's shift in demeanor at the statement, he continued, "It's possible that there are beedrill nearby, and loud noises can attract their attention"— Misty shivered at that —"not to mention that pineco responds to movement by exploding."

"How do you catch something that explodes when you get close to it?"

"With great difficulty," Red muttered, remembering the pineco swarm back at the Ranch. Back when he was eight, a Pineco had fallen on his head before it exploded, throwing shrapnel all around. He had been fortunate that the pineco in question was a rather young one, so its shrapnel were soft and felt like bark. In desperation and fright, Red had raced back to the professor, knowing that Explosion, in general, caused immense damage to a pokémon. Unfortunately for him, the poor pineco kept on exploding over and over every two minutes or so. By the time Red had returned to the lab, he was drenched in sap and covered in little bruises, with pineco bark all over him. It hadn't been a good sight.

"What do you mean?"

Red sighed. "Pineco hang themselves to elderberry branches, by secreting a combustible adhesive and bind themselves to the tree. They also start producing layers or shells around themselves. The greater the number of layers, the closer to evolving the pineco is. Usually, a new bark coating is produced every two weeks or so."

He drew a line connecting their present location to their next destination. "When threatened or surprised, pineco respond by exploding, allowing their outermost shell to fragment outwards. A two-month-old pineco's shell will be flakes of soft bark, as if getting hit by balls of paper. A six-month-old pineco's shell shrapnel feels like tiny pieces of blunt wood, enough to hurt but not enough to cause cuts. A year-old pineco's shell is made of solid shrapnel, able to pierce through human skin easily." He subconsciously pulled his shirt tighter, covering up to his wrists. "This is because the layers are a combination of wood and some sort of metal-based compound, with the metal concentration increasing with the age of the pineco. A pineco with twenty layers or more is nearly 80% metal and will begin to evolve into a forretress. Most pineco end up shedding their layers quite often because of their hypersensitivity to motion. That's why forretress are so rare. It can take several years for one to appear in a pineco colony."

There was also the fact that certain pineco had a high proclivity to explode at random, but that was neither here nor there. He looked up to his compatriot. "That is why catching a pineco single-handed is a difficult business. You'd have better luck catching a forretress instead. Evolved they may be, but at least they won't explode in your face."

"Well, I'm sure there are other trees with sweet sap that don't require us to go so deep into the forest. What if there are pineco there?"

"Because," Red said patiently "with every layer a pineco grows, its weight increases significantly. A pineco nearing evolution can weigh 300 kilograms or more. Most trees cannot support their weight. Elderberry trees not only provide food that a pineco can consume, but also branches that can bear their weight."

"..."

Misty stayed silent for a moment, staring at him as if re-evaluating his opinion. "You really know what you're talking about."

"Huh?"

"When you said that you practically lived at the ranch, I thought you're exaggerating."

Red blinked at her, before shrugging it off. "It's not a big deal. Professor Oak's my mentor, and he showed me how to take care of the occupants of the ranch. Compared to some of the other residents, pineco are practically tame."

Misty arched an eyebrow. "Tamer than something that explodes at the slightest movement?"

Red laughed at her show of disbelief. "There's a large nidoran herd, though half of it is actually from the Pallet Forest. The old man brought them into the ranch 'cause they were being poached for their horns and hide. His nidoking leads the herd."

"His nidoking takes care of the entire nidoran herd?"

Red shook his head. "The herd has a few of nidoking and nidoqueen to lead them. Oak's nidoking leads the leaders, and keeps them from rampaging about." He smiled nostalgically, as if it had been ages since he had seen them. "Then, there's his arcanine, and trust me, it's a beast. Once you've watched it run, you'd be convinced that it's teleporting."

Misty chuckled.

"Then there's the tauros herd. Some irresponsible fellow caught an entire bunch of them and then donated it to the Oak Trust."

"Seems like the Professor spends a lot of time on the ranch, taking care of the occupants."

"Oh no, he has assistants for that. And well, he had me for that, but now I'm on my journey."

"Oh." Misty wondered what to say to that. "So… you want to try for the Indigo Conference, correct?"

"No, I want to win the conference, and then challenge Lance for his position." came the direct reply.

Misty would have scoffed at such hubris, but something about the trainer made her pause in her tracks. "Champion huh? That's rather ambitious of you. How many pokémon do you have?"

"Three," Red replied without hesitation. "Apart from Mawile and Shellder, there's Skarmory. I'd have allowed her to fly ahead, but the forest won't let her."

_So he doesn't have anything else. Come to think of it though, where on earth did he get a skarmory? You usually need to be an elite-trainer to try and catch one._

"Where did you catch a wild skarmory?"

"Me? Catch a wild skarmory?" Red laughed. "Out of my pay grade here. Me and Mawile would be hard-pressed to survive."

"Then?"

"I won her at the Trainer Square."

_Ah. That explains it._

"I didn't know that the Trainer's Square had uncommon pokémon like Skarmory as well."

Red shrugged. "I won enough battle points to hit the weekend jackpot, which turned out to be a greatball. Luckily enough, it turned out to be a skarmory."

"And it didn't attack you? Skarmory are known to be dangerous predators. Well, the wild ones out there anyway."

"Dunno. Skarmory's been as mushy as an eevee. Even Shellder adores her."

Shellder squeaked, while Mawile frowned slightly at the fact.

Misty gaped at him, flustered. "So… a mawile, a shellder, and a skarmory. I can see a growing pattern there since none of them can evolve further. Well, Shellder can. Are you planning on using a Water Stone."

"And getting myself maimed or possibly killed?"

"So… you know." She muttered. "Then why?" She considered his team. "Sentiment?"

"Initially," Red admitted, "Shellder is my first capture, so I just… wanted to keep it along, maybe train it to move around and throw in a few moves. Obviously it wouldn't grow very much compared to the others, but it could learn, well, something. Perhaps in a year or so when I have the money to spare, I could try a hand at evolving it through a Water Stone. At the very least, I'd already have a strong team to fend it away should Shellder...I mean, Cloyster, attack me."

"...I see." The girl stared at the teen in front of him.

Even Mawile was listening to his words carefully. Of course, the deceiver still thought that Red was wasting his time on the mute, but at least she assumed there was some thought behind it.

Red's expression brightened up. "But the important thing is that my trust hasn't been misplaced. I'm working on a special technique for him, though it's more of a mix between a fluke and a half-assed job right now."

"You mentioned that it managed to perform some form of Water Gun."

Red laughed. "Initially it was an attempt to teach him Water Gun, but Shellder's control over pressure is abysmal, and the volume of water he can produce is very small as well."

"That's not unusual. Shelld_er do not lea_rn Water Gun. They do not have the reserves for it." Misty interjected. It was a known fact.

"I know," Red nearly snapped. "Shellder doesn't produce enough water to perform Water Gun, but he did manage to do something. You see, the shellder-line has a single advantage over most other water-types. And that is their ability to build up pressure. They actually move by ejecting air from the back of its shell. They can clearly generate extremely high pressures, so I decided to work on a modified form of Water Gun that holds less water at higher pressure."

"Like a Water Pulse?" Misty felt her interest rise in the conversation.

_That's kind of strange, hearing him talk like that. Does he not know that move-creation is something that an elite-trainer does? A pokémon needs to gain superlative control on its natural moveset first, to be even considered for further development in something new._

"Not a pulse. Shellder's control is too poor to maintain that kind of structure. What Shellder can do… is throw droplets of water, propelled by extreme pressure, at its opponent. That's how Shellder one-shotted a pidgeotto the other day. I'm thinking of calling it Water Bullet".

_The fuck? _Misty felt her jaw drop, as her mind went into overdrive. A single globule of water shot at the target using high pressure . Only, instead of manipulating the pressure to give the water shape like in Water Pulse, it was used to add to its velocity. And there would be several of these globules flying at the opponent.

"And you think—" Misty's tone shifted into something else. The easily-irritated water-type defender took a back seat, and the apprenticing water-type specialist came to the surface. "You think that a _shellder _can do that?"

"I… think so."

"How much progress have you made?"

"...Some." Red felt a little discomfort at Misty's changed attitude. "Why?"

Misty blinked. "Why? You, a rookie, have apparently been working a damned new move, and you ask why? Because I want to see it while it is being created. That's why!"

"And what good will it do you?"

"I've been studying water-types ever since I was little, and I gave up on the shellder line. To see some real development for a shellder is something I won't miss. I can help you create this new move. I can help you even register it, though you wouldn't really need my help, Oak's little prodigy and all that."

"I'm not the old man's prodigy."

"Sure." Misty drawled. "Any other earth-shaking revelations you have regarding shellder?"

"Oh yeah," Red beamed. "Shellder can use Double Team like you wouldn't believe."

"Sure." Her dry tone gave away what she thought about that.

Mawile shook her head. _She's in her denial phase. She'll learn. I know I have._

"Huh, your funeral. Shellder, time to show off. Use Double Team."

Shellder squeaked, before letting out a 'Shill' sound, activating his skill, as several illusory forms of Shellder began appearing all around itself, covering the entire canvas floor inside the tent. It appeared all around Red, all around Mawile, and all around Misty and finally the last one on Misty's lap, before it shot out its dark, crimson tongue.

And licked her face.

Misty screamed.

"Shhhh! What did I tell you about not screaming_?" _Red hissed.

* * *

**Two days later**

As the two bug-catchers soon found out, traversing through Viridian forest to reach exact locations was easier said than done. For one, the trees were tropical ones, with leaf-laden branches spread out on all sides, creating a multi-layered canopy. Even during the day, the light they had was limited to the beams that managed to pass through the overlapping leafy layers, giving the illusion of an eternal twilight zone.

Luckily, the trees had enough spaces between them to allow Skarmory flight, albeit a severely hindered one. Of course Red being Red, had used this as a chance to train her aerial maneuverability, instructing her to fly as fast as she could while avoiding any branches or trunks.

He had thought that it would probably take them a day at the most if they kept on traveling towards their desired direction. Learning to deal with maps and directions was something of an essential skill for trainers and was stressed upon at school. That and the rare night spent with his _mom_ learning to determine directions using the stars made up his navigation skills. Who would have thought that Delia, Professor Oak's assistant, and psychic researcher, had originally been an explorer?

The first time Red had come to know about it, it had shocked the hell out of him. Explorers were pokémon trainers, usually elite-level ones, who worked as freelancers in service to research organizations. They usually accompanied a scientist to unexplored, dangerous zones where they would act as bodyguards and assist scientists with their research.

His mother had been part of an expedition to a forbidden zone known as Galar, as part of a support team sent with a Head Researcher— Samuel Oak. Delia had been a young trainer making her name in the gym circuit and had jumped at the chance to work alongside the legendary Samuel Oak. Apparently, her sharp wit and her unique thought processes had impressed Oak enough to send her an offer of apprenticeship. Delia had never looked back.

Either way, Red hadn't really expected the forest to turn out the way it did. The forest allowed no light to enter at night which meant that the two travelers had to do most of their walking during the day. Sure, they had torches and other equipment for providing light, but traveling like that in the dark, while surrounded by poison-types was something only an idiot would do.

"I cannot believe that you talked me into this… this stupid idea. I mean, what was I thinking when I agreed? No seriously, _what was I thinking?"_

Red sighed at Misty's explosive reactions. Come to think of it, it probably wasn't too surprising. Misty suffered from acute entomophobia, and Red had made her walk through an entire forest of bugs for three days now. Frankly, he was surprised that she hadn't already run off somewhere screaming all the while. He casually wondered if the resident bugs would consider her screams to be an attack on their territory, or hide themselves fearing a powerful predator.

He glanced at Misty, meeting her bulging eyes. Her jaw was half-clenched, with her lips firmly pressed together. Also, Red noticed, Misty had her hands almost sticking to her body, as if afraid that some bug would tear it off if she allowed her hands to go free.

"Are… you okay?"

A vein pulsed on Misty's temples. "Do I look like I'm… _okay, _Red Ketchum?"

"We are nearing the Pineco site… I think." Red replied, glancing at his watch. "We have around three hours or so before the day ends, and the trees are different. The bark is…" he glanced at the trees, inwardly cursing himself for not teaching Mawile Flash. While Skarmory did know Flash, she wasn't suited to walking.

"The bark is darker here, which means that these trees are quite old. I remember spotting a thick growth of Pecca berry trees near the Elder berry plantation. That probably means…"

"That we are very close?" Misty asked hopefully.

Red shook his head. "It means that there are beedrill nests nearby, so for God's sake, make sure you don't _scream_!_"_

Misty had an agonized expression on her face. Gulping, she nodded. "I'll try."

"That goes for you as well, Mawile. You have to keep a lid on your urges to eat a weedle or something, should they show up here. We cannot fight off a horde of beedrill at this point." Red emphasized. "Do you understand? Mawile?"

There was no response, something that triggered an immediate reaction in him.

"Mawile? Mawile, what are you—" He paused, as his eyes registered on the issue that had caused his exuberant starter to become deathly silent.

_What the—?_

* * *

It was a caterpie.

Well, it wasn't just a caterpie. They were stage-one bugs, squashable by the slightest movement of Mawile's jaw. But more importantly, this was a caterpie, and yet…

And yet…

_This is wrong. This is fundamentally wrong on so many levels._

Mawile blinked, as she stared at the three-foot-tall caterpie, which blinked back at her in return. Those creepy eyes were almost as big as her own face, not to mention that it clearly had a longer body dragging behind it.

_A caterpie, taller than me._

Mawile blinked again.

Mawile knew she wasn't blessed when it came to height. None of her species were. It was a physiological thing, with the exception of the rare giant that possibly grew another foot or two taller, gaining a net height of around four feet. Of course, the smaller runts tended to be a little less than one and a half feet, but that was neither here nor there. Mawile, with her tiny two-foot-tall frame, had accepted that she was never really going to win points for her height. The fact that Shellder was less than half her height had been an incredibly satisfying factor for her, which was probably why she had been slightly… appreciative of its position, despite it freeloading over Red's resources.

But this…

"Ewww!" Misty screeched. " That's a giant caterpie. Do Something! Send it away! _Get rid of it!"_

Mawile felt a single vein pulse on her forehead. Here she was in the middle of an _existential crisis_, in which even a first-stage squashable bug was taller than her, and this orangette was screeching her head off. This wasn't the first time that Mawile had to suppress her urge to swallow the annoying orangette whole. Even Shellder seemed comparatively bearable compared to this wild, orange thing.

"Send it away! EEEEWE! It's so creepy!" Misty was essentially throwing her hands and legs all over the place.

"Shhh!" Red hissed, "Can't you stay for a moment without freaking out at every bug we encounter? This is the Viridian Forest for god's sake."

The caterpie tilted its head inquisitively, staring at the orangette's antics.

"But that's a giant _caterpie."_Misty wailed, rushing behind Red to use him as a shield against the string-shotting monster that she seemed to believe would swallow her whole.

"Yeah, so what?" Red hissed back. "Mawile, get rid of it."

Mawile was only too happy to do so. Her jaw practically jiggled with excitement, as she brought it down upon the bug that was the bane of her existence, however temporary that might be. A loud '_slurrrp'_ later and the Viridian Forest was lacking one giant caterpie.

"She… she ate it?" Misty blinked. One part of her seemed to be.. happy that the caterpie had vanished.

_But she ate it! _The other part of Misty's mind, the part that had taken the backseat until now, rose up. "She... she swallowed it whole!"

"Yeah? So what's the big deal." Red asked.

_Yeah, what's the big deal? _Mawile thought in irritation. Seriously, she should have gotten rid of this orangette on the very first day. _Does she think I eat grass or something?_

It must be noted that Misty Waterflower had been somewhat hysterical because of her constant exposure to the surrounding bugs. The presence of the giant caterpie had only exacerbated the situation. The revelation that the cute little thing she knew to be Mawile, had just _casually _swallowed another creature was enough to push her past the boundaries of hysteria. Thus, it was not irrational to expect that her next words would be less of a question and more of a—

"_BUT SHE ATE IT!"_

—a wild screech.

In what could be termed as a dramatic entry, something erupted from out of the bushes, causing the leaves and fly all over in a miniature gale of wind.

And right there, buzzing in front of them, was a beedrill— its stingers ready to impale the invader, and wings vibrating at high speeds, creating miniature winds all around them.

"And this is why I told you" Red sighed "_not to scream."_

Misty gulped.

"Mawile." Red motioned.

Mawile shook her head subtly, raising her jaw with exaggerated slowness, as she summoned the ice, feeling the cold wind empowering her.

"Misty, get ready to release Croconaw."

Misty had no qualms about following the command. The only problem was, there was a large BUG in the air, buzzing in front of her, ready to pounce upon her with its stingers, tear her into pieces and then feed on her before—

"Misty." Red hissed.

Mawile rolled her eyes before she gazed at the beedrill.

"Maw!"

The bug looked at its newest distraction, wondering what was wrong before—

_Astonish!_

A mild jolt sent the beedrill into slight disorientation, and everything changed. The cute, little, ivorish creature was gone, and in its stead, stood a large black jaw that threatened to devour her. Beedrill would have attacked, but its body seemed to be temporarily paralyzed by the sudden fear that seemed to consume it, that menacing jaw was leaking and—

"Icy Wind!" Red yelled.

Mawile raised her jaw and released a gale of biting, cold winds with tiny ice pieces within them. It was proof that she was getting closer and closer to Hail, where the little shrapnels would be shards of ice. The tiny ice shards slammed into the bug in the face, sending it tumbling down into the bush. Injured from the attack, the beedrill soared up, before flying away.

"Yeah!" Misty cheered, the adrenaline rush of the situation getting the better of her. "We sent it flying, didn't we?" Her initial hysteria lost as she gazed at Mawile fondly.

"... Maw?" Mawile tilted her head in confusion.

"Yeah, we sent it flying alright. Seriously, is that the _best _you can do?" Misty yelled after the already-departed beedrill.

_She really doesn't learn, does she? _Red wondered, glancing down at Mawile.

_It is your fault you brought her along. _Mawile thought, glancing back up at Red.

As one the trainer and pokémon sighed, looking at Misty with something akin to sadness.

"...what?" Misty asked, creeped out by their gaze.

As if in answer to her implied question, the bushes exploded, as half a dozen Beedrill zoomed out of it, buzzing loudly, their stingers leaking deadly poison.

"You just had to ask, didn't you." Red retorted.

"I'm— I'm sorry." Misty yelped.

"Save it for later. Mawile now!"

_This is all her fault. _Mawile decided, letting out a burst of Icy Wind again. Obviously, given her tiny reserves, it was hardly enough to cause damage to the horde in front of them, but it was enough for a distraction. Taking advantage of the situation, Red took out his other pokémon, the one member who actually had the strength and ability to deal with the horde.

"Skarmory, attack!."

With a wild screech, Skarmory shot out of her greatball, her wings spread out, already gathering layers of steel over the surfaces. She shot through the Beedrill horde, fracturing one of the stingers that tried to resist her wings, as she soared into the air, the enraged Beedrill swift behind her tracks.

"At the very least, I stand right about the forest being a good test for our strengths." Red chuckled. "Mawile gets to eat bugs. Skarmory gets to fight, and Shellder gets to..."

Shellder, who had been hanging on his finger all this time, let out a shrill squeak, registering its presence. Unfortunately, that caused it to let go of its hold, leading to an unceremonious fall to the ground.

"...And Shellder too." he finished lamely.

Poor Mawile could only sigh at that.

* * *

After what seemed like an eternity, the bug-catching expedition had finally arrived at a meager position that could almost tentatively be called a success. In simple terms, they had finally been able to spot a massive growth of Elder berry trees, and to a certain black-haired trainer's elation, there were hordes of pineco latching on the branches. In fact, there were several dozen per branch, with the heavier and larger ones latched on to the tree trunks with several thick strands of resin acting as adhesives.

"That's… a lot of pineco." Misty muttered, "and can you stop looking so smug about it?"

"Well, what can I say? I did tell you that I had previous experience."

"Forgive me for being skeptical about someone who didn't have a single badge to defend his claim." Misty shot back.

"You do realize that this no-badger can simply call it quits and leave you here all alone?"

"What? You promised me!"

"Shhh!|" Red hissed. _"Don't shout!"_

"Sorry!" Misty replied in hushed tones. She didn't need another beedrill experience, thank you very much. "You promised to help me in return for money."

"Promised to catch the bugs, yes." Red shot back. "Not to deal with your tantrums. I can just as well get the bugs and mail them to wherever you come from."

"Fine!" Misty receded. "Now how about you show me how to catch one of them, oh wise one?"

Red arched an eyebrow at the obvious implication of a challenge. "I can think of a few ways to capture a pineco, without them exploding all over us."

"Really?" Misty challenged. "You told me that they respond to close movement by exploding. Your skarmory is too large, and considering how closely the pineco are huddled together, if even one of them explodes, it will likely trigger the others as well."

"Point."

"And your Mawile has mostly been a physical attacker too, and it's not like Fairy Wind or Icy Wind will help matters either. It would be enough to drop the pineco, but not enough to keep it from exploding once it falls on the ground."

"You are really thinking it out, aren't you?" Red asked, a little amused.

"Of course I am. Shellder Isn't an option, for obvious reasons. Double Team will creep them out and may cause them to explode. So we're out of options unless you have a fourth pokémon hidden somewhere."

Red shrugged. "Nope. Those are all I have. Perhaps… Some of your own pokémon?"

Misty hesitated for a moment. "Croconaw can use Water Gun and Bubble Beam, but both will probably cause the pineco to explode. My starmie can be more… accurate in her hits. She knows Ice Beam, but I doubt it would help, since we still need to bring the pineco down."

"Perhaps she can hit one on the resin, and then catch the pineco mid-fall with Psychic?" Red offered.

"She's… not that capable. Yet."

_A young starmie then. Since staryu only develop their psychic affinity after evolution, it's probably less than a few months since it evolved. _Red mused.

"All right, well that sums up our current situation."

"Yes, and we have no plan to successfully catch one. Seriously, catching a pineco shouldn't be this hard. It's a first-level bug, after all." Misty hissed in frustration.

"You're right. It shouldn't." Red replied after a moment, pulling out an empty pokéball from his belt."

Misty blinked." What… are you doing?"

"Catching it, of course! "

"Of all the presumptuous brashness you could come up with." Misty paused midway, keeping her tone in check, "you cannot possibly think that you'll catch a pineco with just a pokéball."

"It's worth a try."

Misty glared at him, as if trying to figure out if he was being serious or simply messing with her. Finally, she gave up and crossed her arms across her chest. "Fine. Impress me with your skill."

Red rolled his eyes. "Here goes nothing." He held the pokéball in his hand, aiming for the pineco horde on the third branch. Even if his aim wasn't great, chances of him missing all of them were fairly low."

And then, he clicked on the capture button of the pokéball.

The familiar red light shot out of the capture device, hitting one of the pineco latched to the branch. It took a second-worth of wait before the pineco felt itself surrounded with a red aura that forcibly pulled it into the pokéball before it could even react. The top of the device lifted up, securing the capture, before shutting down with a 'ding'.

"And that's how," Red declared smugly, "you catch a pineco."

"What-but-how?"

"Why so surprised? It is a stage-one bug after all."

"But-how-buh!"

"What? Did you think that hitting the pokémon in the head with the pokéball was necessary to capture them or something? Why would any sensible manufacturer add such a silly clause to a capture device? You don't want to lose a pair trying to capture a running pokémon or something."

Misty just continued to gape at him, wide-eyed.

"...what?" Red asked, stepping back warily. After all, Misty was prone to violent behavior at the best of times.

"But, I mean— it is supposed to be thrown, the pokéball I mean, right?"

Red rolled his eyes. "Seriously? Why do you think it's thrown?"

Misty thought about it. "Because— because it would be dangerous to do so, otherwise?"

The teen sighed. "Most wild pokémon out there are dangerous, so it is advisable to throw the pokéball at them after they are disoriented, since they can always fight off the pokéball's suppression, and break out. Of course, you would have a problem if the pokéball was in your hand when that happened. Pineco however, are too docile to do so and therefore, this works just fine."

Misty just nodded back in befuddlement.

* * *

**Meanwhile in Pewter City**

"He certainly has a stubborn streak," Cassidy observed, staring at the ongoing battle from the command room. "This is what… the thirteenth match for the day? My word, he's practically a machine. I'd be impressed if not for the fact that he keeps _losing _them."

Butch sighed. "Don't I know it."

Cassidy smirked. "I never asked, but what made you pay all that money on this scrawny kid again? You don't seem the kind to blow cash on charity."

Butch chortled at that. "See that kid fighting? Watch him." He raised the remote towards the screen, increasing the volume. "What do you think will happen?"

Cassidy snickered but didn't say anything, as the sounds on the battlefield became audible.

"Raichu, evade and use Thunder Punch." Ritchie was saying.

The electric rodent leaped off the ground, just in time to avoid the Dark Pulse aimed at him, using his speed to maximum effect. The opponent, a Houndoom belonging to a Johto-native, growled at its missed prey, before it sent out a shower of flames, causing the Raichu to drop his attack and shift to the right.

"Damn!" Ritchie cursed. "I cannot win like this." He observed how the Houndoom had its claws clenched into the ground, ensuring that a significant amount of any electrical attack that hit would be channeled into the earth, losing a lot of potency in the process.

"Don't let it get closer. Use flamethrower again." The other trainee ordered his pokémon.

"Raichu, leap into the air and use Thunder Shock."

"Gotcha!" The opponent smirked. "Take the hit, and use smog."

The Houndoom barked maliciously, before belching out poisonous, dark purple smog from its mouth into the air, aimed in Raichu's general direction. Meanwhile, the thunder attack hit Houndoom, causing him to shriek in pain as he felt his nerves get inflamed. As expected, most of the Thunder was channeled into the ground, leaving the Houndoom somewhat fatigued and disoriented, but still in the battle.

The same could not be said about Raichu.

The smog had taken effect and poisoned the electric rodent, rendering him paralyzed and nearly incapacitated, leaving him to fall down to the ground. The Houndoom, somewhat able to still move, leaped towards the Raichu and bit it in the neck, before bodily pulling it up and slamming it down.

Raichu didn't move.

"Ha! Told ya, your piss poor rodent ain't good enough for my Houndoom, buddy!" The Johto-native chortled, before walking off, leaving Ritchie to stare at his fallen pokémon, clenching his jaw.

"Fourteenth loss, eh?" Cassidy chortled at the screen. "This little guy seems to have made up his mind to achieve some sort of record for losing. I don't think I've heard _anyone _to lose that many times in one day."

Butch smiled. "There is one, actually. Seventeen losses in a day. Check the stats for the trainees that came up nine years ago."

"Nine—" Cassidy stopped short, realizing something. "You've been here for nine years too, haven't you? Don't tell me that—"

"That record belongs to me," Butch answered with a smile floating on his lips. "At one time, I was in that guy's shoes," he nodded at the screen. "Nothing spectacular. Not a genius, not an instinctive battler, and pretty terrible at all-round battle strategy. I had none of it. It was just me, my Magmar, and an arrest warrant in my name."

"You are the only executive in Team Rocket with a champion-level pokemon, Butch_. _I cannot believe that you were once a nobody like that little kid over there."

Butch chuckled. "It's been a difficult path for me and Magmar, and it'll be difficult for those two as well. You know why I paid in advance for the kid? He wanted the money to get a Thunder Stone for that raichu. My agent told me that he offered him a deal for a Thunder stone in return for two months of grunt-salary. That little loser over there, he bargained for a years' salary upfront to get his team in working order and bought TMs with whatever remained. He cared about nothing except his pokémon and was willing to sacrifice everything, himself included. That's _conviction_, and the one thing I respect more than anything else in the world."

Cassidy smiled at that. "A years' salary? My word, I'm not sure what to call that, bravery or stupidity."

"Call it whatever you will. I believe the kid has it within him to grow within our ranks. That over there is a future executive, carved out of continuous, non-stop effort. Not talent, not technique, but sheer diligence."

"Is that why you went double for him during training?" Cassidy mocked. "I must admit, I was shocked to hear the great _Butch _turn coach for a group of trainees."

Butch chuckled. "What did you think I did that for?"

"That you were angry that you paid for a loser, and tried to get some satisfaction by beating the shit outta him?" She quipped.

Butch shook his head in amusement.

* * *

**Back in Viridian Forest**

"I'm so beat," Misty muttered.

"You have b_een beat aft_er every two hours, ever since we started on this trip. How exactly did you travel from your school to Viridian again?" Red questioned idly. It had been another two days of constant traveling, searching for the next location to catch the next pokémon on the list. The mission had been a major success, and now they were traveling for the third item on Misty's list.

"I teleported. How else? " Misty answered offhandedly.

Red stopped in his tracks.

"...What?" Misty asked, wondering what was wrong with her acquaintance, or, dare she called it, extremely annoying but interesting friend.

"You teleported all the way from Saffron City to Viridian?"

"Well, I stopped at Cerulean for a few days first."

"But that— that," Red did a mental calculation. "That must have cost you nearly thirty thousand."

"Twenty-six grand to be precise," Misty replied. "I get discounts for using Teleportation services so often."

Red didn't know whether to be shocked at her casual way of mentioning such a high figure, or the fact that she seemed to spend such an outrageous amount for teleportation every now and then.

"You spend that much on teleportation?" He asked, his throat dry. Despite being pretty comfortable in terms of economic wealth, Red had lived a rather frugal life. After all, one did not stay poor when working for Samuel Oak. Misty's expenses seemed a little too outrageous for his tastes. Hell, his mother earned around fifteen thousand a month, working for Oak, less than this girl spent on teleportation."

"How else am I supposed to travel home and back from school? Traveling by train would take over two days, and walking is certainly not an option. I'm not a fan of the paid flight services, which leaves teleportation as the most convenient."

Red blinked. "On second thoughts, I should have asked for more when you hired me."

"You sore loser." Misty taunted. "I was prepared to go upto twelve thousand while asking you to agree with my request. It's not my fault that you caved at the first offer."

Red face-palmed. With that much money, he could have gotten himself four intermediate-tier TMs for his team. Hell, he could have gotten himself another low-intermediate Move Tutor and have some money left over.

Misty chortled at that. "Either way, it seems that it'll probably be another week or something before we managed to complete our _mission, _so it's possible that I'll reconsider. Depending on the result of course." She gloated in a smug voice. "Either way, leaving me alone in this forest ain't an option on the table."

"Fine then. I'll be training my team here for a while. While ledyba was an easy capture, capturing a venonat is going to be tricky as hell."

"I'm still surprised that ledyba are that… dumb." Misty muttered.

"They are not dumb." Red retorted. "There are just… unused to combat. They group and fight together as part of a swarm. Also, ledyba are practically babies. It's usually the ledian population that fight any predators."

"It got taken down with a stone." Misty accused.

"Well not entirely. Mawile sent out a gust of Icy Wind. Ledyba do not like the cold, and they flew away. I simply aimed for the ones at the back of the swarm. If you aren't attacking the swarm as a whole, ledyba tend to avoid combat. The stone was enough to disorient one of them and it was easy enough to catch once it got separated from the swarm."

"Sometimes I wonder if you are an actual bug-specialist disguised as a rookie," Misty muttered.

Red chuckled. "Believe me I'm not. Some of it is from my years of serving at the ranch. The rest is from reading the research material from the pokédex every night. I like reading about pokémon in detail, and the National Dex has access to the global pokémon database."

"I'd never have figured you to be a nerd."

Red shrugged. Knowing about a pokémon was instrumental in taking care of it. Unlike humans, a pokémon did not come with an off-switch for their rampages, especially when their caretaker did something they found terribly resentful. The league and the general population commonly turned a blind eye to it, but death at the hands of one's own pokémon was one of the biggest reasons for trainer deaths every year.

"I have a mawile as my starter, as well as a skarmory on my team. Lack of information can get me killed.."

"I'd have thought that a cute—" Misty hesitated over the word for a moment, probably remembering Mawile's casual consumption of the large caterpie, "— cute thing like Mawile would be a terrible choice for a starter."

Red winced, thanking whatever deity was listening that Mawile for once, had decided to rest in her pokéball. Apparently, she had gotten tired of walking through the forest, and wanted a break. The trees were thicker so Skarmory wasn't out either, and Shellder… didn't count. So it was just him and Misty for a change, chatting amiably as they traveled through the forest.

"Well?" Misty demanded.

"To be honest, I wanted a charmander for my starter," Red admitted, inwardly surprised at how… indifferent he felt about it now. Back at the beginning, he had been completely adamant about getting a charmander, and no other pokémon could really substitute its place in his heart. But after spending all this time in Viridian with Mawile and her antics, Shellder and its experiments, and more recently, Skarmory and her preening, he had gotten used to thinking of them as parts of his life. He casually wondered if he'd have chosen a charmander as a starter if he had the chance to repick his starter.

Probably not.

"So what happened?"

"Well, to make a long story short, the old man ended up giving away the starters for some ongoing research in Kalos and—" Red paused, "come to think of it, I never got to know what the research was about. I'll need to ask the old man next time when I call him."

Misty arched an eyebrow. It was obvious that she had heard Samuel Oak described in venerated terms, but his casual description of the centennial legend in such crass tones seemed… almost off-putting to her.

At Misty's nod, Red went on. "Anyway, after some discussion with him, I decided on a pikachu. Yeah I know, I was surprised too, but the old man told me that pikachu would be a good substitute until he got me a charmander."

"I didn't know you had a pikachu."

"I'm glad I don't. That little shit tricked me and nearly electrocuted me to death. Fried half the nerves of my arm. The old man threw money like candy, from what I'm told, to get me all functional."

From her frown, Red mused that she didn't like his self-deprecating humor. "Either way," he began, "Can you imagine me with a pikachu? I'd have gotten nowhere with it, with that nasty brat electrocuting everything in sight."

"As long as it didn't zap anything of mine we'd be fine." Misty answered, "Anyway, what happened next?"

"Well when I was somewhat capable of movement, he came to see me and gave me Mawile. We had a somewhat rough start," Red chuckled, remembering some of Mawile's initial antics, "but I'd like to think we've grown on each other since then."

Misty did not doubt that statement. All three of his team seemed to hold Red in high esteem. "That's… interesting."

Red shrugged. "Sometimes life throws you curve-balls. I'm happy that I got Mawile out of it, no matter what it took me, and I wouldn't change a thing now."

"So… you don't want a charmander?"

"I… wouldn't say that I don't want one. But if I get one, I think I'd like to catch it in the wild, as rare as they are. I don't think it'll be the same to simply get one from the old man."

"I see," Misty replied. "So… about this venonat."

"Oh yeah, this one's gonna be tricky. Are you sure you can't substitute anything else for it?"

Misty shook her head. "We can always look for spinarak yet." She shuddered, probably imagining one of the spidery-monstrosities.

"Spinarak are generally found on dense forest floors. We're pretty much close to that anyway. Chances are we might encounter a spinarak while waiting for a venonat."

"Waiting?"

"Venonat have highly reactive compound vision. They are hypersensitive to motion and can see things coming from nearly half a mile away. Any movement around it is probably going to send it running."

"Then how do we find it?"

"We put up a tent and start a fire. Venonat tend to get attracted by bright light. And we could use a little rest too, though I should tell you, it might take some days before we manage to catch one."

"..."

"Misty?"

"Yeah?" She asked, looking slightly off-guard at being broken out of her reverie. "What?"

"I asked you if you were okay with that."

"Yeah, I guess some days of resting doesn't sound like a bad idea. It will also give me the opportunity to see Shellder's special move. Besides it's not like YEAAAAK—"

Red had pulled her towards himself without preamble, and in reaction, she had jerked back, causing both of them to fall down on the ground with Red above her, pinning her down to the ground with his body. Her arm was still clenched in his fist, causing one of his hands to get buried beneath her body.

"Excuse me," she asked, keeping her voice low and controlled as possible, "What are you doing?"

"Shhh!" Red hissed softly, stopping her from getting up. "Don't fight. Stay low."

"Why?" Misty hissed.

"'Cause we unknowingly entered pinsir territory."

Misty flinched. "Pinsir are dangerous."

"You really have a gift for stating the obvious," Red replied in an offhand tone, trying to listen to whatever was near them.

Is it close?" She whispered.

"Not it," Red whispered back, raising his head slightly to look to his right. The bushes beside him provided enough cover for them to hide for the moment. However, should the pinsir discover them, no amount of bush cover could save their asses. He slowly pushed his head upward, from where they were sprawled over the ground.

_That's a nice perfume. _He casually noted, before his priorities shifted.

Four pinsir. One pinsir was too much a challenge for Mawile to deal with. Perhaps Skarmory could take on one and probably win. But four? From what he knew, Misty's croconaw was extremely sluggish, being near evolution and he had no idea if her starmie would be of any help at the moment. For a moment, he cursed himself for not trying to acquire a fire-type before setting off for the forest. Fire was excellent in combating bugs after all.

_Lay low for the moment, but get ready to fight. That seems like an optimum solution. Even better, set up a distraction and run away. Pinsir are terrifyingly strong but they aren't fast._

That seemed like a good solution for the moment. Red turned to face Misty, a part of him slightly… unnerved by their close proximity. He wasn't really comfortable grabbing her like this but dire circumstances necessitate action. Knowing Misty, she'd have probably screamed on seeing the pinsir and made their situation even worse.

"Can you get to your pokéballs?" He whispered. "I need you to get ready to release starmie at a moment's notice." He slowly released his hold on Misty's other arm and plucked out Skarmory's pokéball. As much as he liked Mawile, this battle was too risky for her. He needed someone strong, durable and speedy. Skarmory fitted the bill.

Misty nodded quietly, arching to reach Starmie's pokéball.

There was just one problem.

A weedle, nothing fancy, just short of a foot in height, poked its head out of a tiny perforation on the ground, just inches above Misty's face. And as luck would have it, Misty tried to look towards her left, trying to see if there was some way to crawl out from their present uncomfortable situation. Her eyes scanned the pokémon in front of her, and after two long seconds began to dilate. It was slow at first, but then her phobia came in full effect. Before she could give in and scream her lungs out, Red clamped her mouth tightly with his other hand, while pushing the one hand beneath her further left, pulling her towards himself until his face was inches far away from hers, and clenched the weedle in his fist.

Misty kept trying to scream over and over, but Red forced her to stay quiet. It would not do to let her be and get killed by the pinsir herd. He had too much to accomplish to end his life like that. Instead, he forced his fingers to clench around the weedle, containing it. The weedle, realizing an obvious trap by a predator, pushed its needle out into Red's palm, right below the thumb.

"_Shut up!" _He hissed.

Red shut his eyes as he felt the toxin take effect, but more importantly, felt Misty relax beneath his palm, and let her mouth go free. The moment his hand was free, he pulled the weedle out and sent it flying.

"Ouch." Misty whispered, looking at his other hand from the corner of her eye. The slight purplish tinge was distinct, even from her position. "Does that hurt much?"

"No clue."

* * *

It took around half an hour for the pinsir herd to be distracted, though it had less to do with Red and Misty staying silent, and more with a strange cry resonating through the forest. From what Red inferred, it was a dull, throaty shriek over a hundred yards away, causing the pinsir to grunt wildly and rush towards it. A few moments later and they were gone.

"I can't feel my legs," Misty muttered, still pinned down by Red's weight. "Any longer and you'll have to carry me.."

"I think we are fine now," Red whispered back. "They seem to be attracted to something else. I think it's another pokémon."

"More pinsir?" Misty breathed.

"I… don't think so." He answered in the same tone. "It screeched, and Pinsir don't screech. Wait a second," He pushed his head upwards before crouching again.

"Did you see anything?"

"No. But I think they're gone now."

Misty sighed. This was not what she had in mind when starting out on her bug-catching adventure.

"Okay, here goes," Red whispered, slowly raising his head before he glanced towards the right again. The pinsir seemed to have vanished, and he couldn't hear them grunt anymore. Taking one last tentative look around, he slowly started moving from his position. "Alright, I think we can try to escape now, but don't scream at anything or panic."

Misty nodded. "I'll try."

"Good." Without further ado, he pushed himself up, pulling her off the ground. His hand, he idly noted, felt numb. Though, some of that might have been from the weedle's toxins. The site of the puncture was now an angry purple, though he surprisingly didn't feel much pain.

"That doesn't look like something you should ignore," Misty whispered, seeing him curiously observe his hand.

"This is not the time. Let's get out of here first." Red answered, "Can you walk?"

Misty took a step away, and let go of Red's hand. She faltered for a second, feeling her knees go weak, but Red caught her before she actually fell down.

"Put your weight on my shoulder, and we can walk."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

* * *

**A few hours later**

"Do you think that this place will be safe?" Misty asked, rubbing themselves gently.

After over an hour of walking, they had finally gotten themselves into a location that had a lower density of tree growth. The land was mostly filled with dry grass, with a few berry trees growing some distance away. In other words, a perfect place to set up camp.

"Well, this is probably as good as it's going to get," Red muttered, cautiously observing the purplish shade on his palm. He extended his thumb away from his hand experimentally, before slowly retracting it.

"Strange, I'd have thought that the weedle's poison would be more effective than this. I mean, I did use an Antidote and everything, but it didn't even hurt like I expected it to."

"Huh? Are you actually _disappointed _that it isn't hurting as much as you expected it too?" Misty exclaimed, "You did apply the antidote properly, right?"

"Yep," Red answered offhandedly. This wasn't the first time he had encountered bug poison, and while they did sting a lot, a timely antidote usually took care of it. He had expected the bugs of Viridian forest to be even more toxic than the ones on the ranch. "The swelling and discoloration should be gone in a couple of hours. It still stings a little bit, but the pain is nothing like it could have been."

"If you say so." Misty drawled, "or you might have built up a good pain tolerance over time."

Red shrugged. Truth be told, he hadn't really been hurt ever since… well, ever since the pikachu incident. There had been that time when Mawile had pulled Shellder off him, and the numerous times she had bitten him— with her frontal teeth, not her sinister black jaw. Then there was Shellder who had the habit of clamping into his hands but that was different. The only other injury he had taken since the incident was the one involving Skarmory.

Come to think of it, he had felt bloodloss and nausea, but pain? Not very much, to be honest.

"Yeah, I guess I do have a lot of pain tolerance," Red answered, inwardly flinching as he remembered being nearly shocked to death. From what he had heard, the electrocution had damaged nearly half the nerves on his arm. Did that have something to do with this?

"I suppose now would be a good time to release our pokémon," Misty suggested. She looked exhausted by the day's events, and the uncomfortable situation earlier had certainly not helped. "Do you want me to put up the other tent?"

Red thought about it. "Well, if you wish, you can sleep in here with me and Mawile. It's not exactly safe around here and you… have a problem.," Red explained."Worst comes to worst and we get attacked, we may need to leave the tent behind. That way at least we have one tent for future use, even if this one gets destroyed."

Misty seemed to consider it for a moment "You have really thought this through, haven't you?"

"I like to be prepared." He answered. "Working with the old man has taught me just how dangerous it is to be a trainer. The professor wanted me to help him in research, you know. He's still probably sulking that I choose to be a trainer instead."

_He might have even have been a good researcher too. _Misty mused. _Extremely pragmatic when needed, and good at analysis. Hell, he's already working on creating an original move. It's almost like…_

Misty glanced at him again. _It's almost like he's born to shatter my perspective regarding almost everything._

"About your Shellder…" She began abruptly.

"Huh? What about it?"

"Well, I'm studying to be a water-specialist, so perhaps I can help you with the theory behind the moves. You do know that basic moves lead to high-tier moves in time, right?"

"Yeah well, I did look into that a bit for Icy Wind since Mawile knows it, and we are working to progress that into Hail. I think she is close, but it will still be a while before she gets the hang of it. I know a few move chains, but that's all. It's a study in progress."

_Why am I not surprised? _Misty mused_. _"Well, what about water-types? Do you know much about them?"

"Not a lot," Red admitted. "I was more interested in teaching Shellder Water Gun since that's a basic-tier move. We also spent most of our time in Viridian City battling at the trainer square and Mawile's progress took priority there. Skarmory's pretty recent, so there's not very much I have been able to do for her."

"Well, I wouldn't know about Skarmory or Mawile, but water-types are my specialty," Misty replied with a smile on her face. "I've literally grown up among them. If you want, I can help you with water-types— taking care of them, understanding their move chains —stuff like that."

Red blinked. "Is this about… what happened earlier?" he mused for a moment, awaiting a reaction. Finding none, he continued, "Listen, I didn't try to save your life there so that you'll owe me or anything."

"No it's certainly not—", Misty almost exploded, "I mean, it has nothing to do with it. I just wanted to help you with Shellder because… because I like helping. Yeah, that's why."

"...sure."

Misty blinked. "So, we're good, right?"

Red shrugged.

"Well sure. Unless..." Red glanced at her suspiciously. She had promised to help Shellder with Water Gun, but this offer included quite a bit more."you're not gonna charge me for it, are you?"

"Nah, I mean, no," Misty replied, shaking her hands hurriedly, "not gonna charge."

"Cool."

"..."

"Aren't you gonna say anything else?"

"...nope." Red stood up. "Guess I'll just start up the fire. It's been a while since I've cooked."

"You know how to cook?" Misty arched an eyebrow.

"I'm a trainer, planning to travel all over the Kanto mainland. By foot. Of course, I know how to cook." Red retorted. "Unless of course, you know some ex-gym leader wanting to travel with me and act as my chaperone and cook."

"...That was oddly specific."

Red shrugged, before turning to leave the tent.

* * *

**In an undisclosed location**

"Bishop, to E5."

The automated chess piece moved forward, gently sliding into the designated location. Almost immediately, the pawn sitting on D4 swerved diagonally, hitting the bishop, sending it flying out of the chessboard.

"I forgot mental orders were a thing," The man seated in the shadows smirked. "That little pawn of yours is really tough. Sent my poor bishop flying."

"I am extremely careful with my pawns." The other man laughed. "How is the consignment coming along?"

"Badly." The man in the shadows frowned. "It seems my entire presence in Pallet was for nothing. Oak wasn't involved in the transfer. Instead, the handling was shifted to someone else."

"Who?"

"Brock Pebbleman."

The other man chuckled. "The old boy's grown bolder from what I've seen. All this time here patiently waiting, and that overgrown child snatches the prize when I'm distracted. Queen to A3."

"I thought stealing was my job."

"You have done your job well, my friend, but this will require a joint venture. Project Apotheosis depends on its successful completion."

"Yeah, you and your projects. Speaking of which, I believe this will require... a personal investment?"

"It might. Lance is many things, but a fool he is not. There's a reason he gave the transport job to Pebbleman. You know the security risks, and you know just how difficult Pebbleman can be." He casually shifted his Rook between his King and the rival Queen.

The man in the shadows laughed. "Well, it's not like I can't do it. It's been a long time since I've performed my art on such a grand scale."

"Only you'd label your skillset... _art. _Personally_,_ I'd prefer to pick your conniving brain for my research. The Admin job is still open should you choose to accept it."

The man in the shadows chuckled, bringing his own rook forward, "I'd rather be Pym. It's the least irritating mask I've adorned in decades. You'll get your consignment in time, no matter how skilled Pebbleman might be. I'd need some aid though."

"Must be my lucky day. The wolf is willing to hunt outside of his pack." The other man laughed. "What do you need?"

"A good executive team, and some lambs. Oh, and a Salazzle. I'm told the ones in Pewter base are rather vicious."

"Easily arranged."

"Though the League's aces may be a problem."

"That's a given, which is why I wanted you in particular. This mission too important to screw up."

Pym smirked. "Understood. That reminds me, how did you acquire the transport information? I can't imagine Lance sharing it with anyone before the moving date, even Pebbleman."

"What can I say? All the world's a game, you just have to know how to move the pieces right. Oh, and one last thing."

"What?"

"Checkmate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~
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> It's very hard to continue writing, in a community that gives not a single comment after 100k words, to be honest.


	9. Act 1 - Immolation | Chapter 9 -  Mawile, the Kidnapper

**Somewhere in Viridian Forest**

Growlithe crouched down on the floor, his deep crimson eyes staring past the shackles of his cage. Just like every other time in the past, _the procedure _incited an uncomfortable feeling of vertigo in him. The rock-cut contraption that was his cage was slowly taken out of the underground basement and lifted to the upper floors. The discomfort finally stopped, as his cage came to a screeching halt. A few moments later, the door to his cage slowly started rising, allowing him to exit. Just like always.

Any other creature would have taken the opportunity to flee, to escape the torturous solitude of this prison. But Growlithe knew better now. He had already tried to escape when he was younger, foolishly thinking that his captors had perhaps forgotten to lock him in and left the gate open. Growlithe preferred not to think about what happened next. Needless to say, he had not tried to flee in this manner again.

This was not an outlet for his freedom. This was a death-match and his ticket to survival. Then again, when survival simply meant staying locked in the basement, it didn't sound very enticing. Nevertheless, Growlithe slowly pushed himself out of it, leaping into the large rock arena spanning several yards in radius. He felt his legs hit the floor and hissed in pain.

Growlithe were creatures that were naturally used to running around, and the development of their hind limbs was dependent upon their physical exercise. Down in the basement, all Growlithe had was a large chamber, a place where he lived with a few others of his kind. It provided just enough space to lie down or walk around, but definitely not enough to run. As a result, his limbs had grown weaker with time, forcing him to develop other modes of combat. It was imperative for his continued survival, and staying alive required him to get through constant battles to the death with these… creatures that those men-in-white threw at him.

Growlithe didn't blame them. After all, those creatures were captives, just like himself. They were slaves— pokémon who were bred in captivity, and would most likely die in captivity as well.

Growlithe, would not.

It was something of an instinctual drive in him. To escape, to be free, to get out of this white-walled maze, and run out into the warm world outside. Growlithe often dreamt of the world outside. What would it be like? Was it filled with men-in-white, experimenting on creatures for their sick amusement? It did not matter. Even if it was the last thing he did, he would be free. And to achieve freedom, Growlithe needed two things— to stay alive, no matter the cost, and to gain strength.

A sharp throb in his leg drew him out of his thoughts.

_Right, the deathmatch._

He had been in several other of these matches, and he'd won every single time. His continued survival was proof of that. Several of his opponents were houndour. For some reason, the men-in-white _loved _making him fight houndour. He remembered facing a sandshrew once, and then there was a cruel-looking poliwhirl who had nearly beaten him to death. Most death-matches were difficult, and more often than not, Growlithe had been injured, but he had preserved. He had won. And he would win again. Right until he got strong enough to rip his way out of this prison. But now he was weak. He would have to comply if he wanted to survive. He would have to—

"Subject X-13," Growlithe heard a man-in-white speaking from behind the glass-protected balcony on the edge of the battleground. Nothing to be surprised about. It was part of the usual procedure.

"Natural move set, Fire Fang, Acid and Flame Burst. Lack of Poison moves so far. Inculcation of Smog TM has resulted in a mutated acid version, codenamed Acid Smog. Acid Smog is the only synthetic move recorded so far."

Pause.

"Observation— consistent victories against poison-types without getting poisoned. Inference— immunity to poison. Observation— energy reserves increase when exposed to flames. Inference— Flash Fire ability active. Observation— the subject has shown muscular and surface-level regeneration, far beyond the natural capabilities of its species. Complete regeneration from a Level-4 injury in less than five hours. Inference— Ability, Regenerator."

Another pause.

"Out of all other subjects in Basement 105, Subject X-13 has shown positive reports upon the inculcation of B-17 DNA, and consequent adaptation to it. Skin color— minor discoloration. Light purple fur. "

Growlethe was beginning to get irritated. Why did they list this every single time he had to fight?

"Physical stamina lower than standard Growlithe. Observation— signs of physical weakening of limb muscles from lack of exertion. Recommendation— physical exercise and observe if it impacts behavioral and physiological changes."

Well, of course, he would have lower stamina than a normal growlithe. He was barely allowed to leave his cage, forget about exercise.

"Significant reserves. High affinity for both fire and acid-based attacks. Mutation of natural Smog into Acid Smog supports this hypothesis. Further testing with intermediate-tier moves to test reserve-limit and efficiency is recommended. Observation— psychologically submissive to orders. Observation— no reaction to poison-type TMs. Inference— lack of poison ability, though subject demonstrates extreme immunity from it, possibly a byproduct of regenerator. No reaction to dragon-type TMs suggests that the previous hypothesis of all traits carrying over is false. Continued survival from mutations indicates that adaptability is active."

The man in the white coat gave one last look at the growlithe before speaking up again.

"Qualified for the final test before transport."

There was a sound of something metallic being dragged from somewhere, and soon enough, a second contraption arrived on the other side of the rocky battleground. Growlethe squinted warily as the cage swung open, trying to analyze his opponent for the next battle. It was a large red crustacean with two large pincers on either of its forelimbs. More importantly, however, it reeked of the sea.

_A water type then. _Growlethe cursed internally. _Not built for speed though judging from its legs._ Considering the pincers and the obvious exoskeleton, he inferred that it was probably some kind of water-bug.

This was a deathmatch, but more importantly, this was his final test. Should he win, he'd be sent to another location, which meant getting out of this white-walled prison. He knew this because several other creatures from the other cells of the basement were also transferred from time to time. It was fascinating to think of how much one could learn simply by keeping their ears open. And for all the cruelty these men-in-white and their workers demonstrated, they weren't exceptionally sharp. That, or perhaps they didn't consider pokémon intelligent enough to understand what they were saying. Or they just didn't care

But Growlithe did care. Should this final test come to a successful completion, he would be locked up and kept in custody for two days, away from the rest of the herd down in the basement. A few days later and someone would arrive and take Growlithe away to the _Base, _as they called it. He didn't know where that was, and if his plan went perfectly, he'd never need to either.

_But first, I need to kill this bug-thing._

Without further ado, he opened his mouth and released a tiny clump of flame.

A probing attack.

The crustacean raised his claws and deflected the incoming barrage without so much as a scratch.

_Strong armor? Is it a steel-type? _Growlithe reevaluated. _No, there would be some melt from the flame._

He circled the pokémon cautiously waiting to see what it would do. The beast watched him for a brief moment before it opened one of its pincers and launched a torrent of water at him. If not for his weakened legs, Growlithe could have easily dodged it, but that was not to be. The torrent of water slammed into his abdomen, causing him to whimper as he was thrown against the wall.

_I was right. A water-type with a hard exoskeleton. _Growlithe cursed, trying to push himself up. Well, fire attacks were out of consideration. That exoskeleton was probably strong enough to throw off a Flame Burst, and most water-types had an abnormally high moisture content on their surfaces, weakening fire moves even more.

_Need to get in closer._

Had the pokémon been made of flesh, he could have harmed it with enough fire, typing be damned. But a water-typing with an exoskeleton was a tough nut to crack. Perhaps something along the lines of a Flamethrower could melt through it, but as high as Growlithe's reserves were, he hadn't gained enough control to bring forth something like that. Not yet.

_Acid it is then._

He pushed himself up on his legs and took a deep breath to steady himself. It always helped, or at least he thought it did. Growlithe leaped ahead and opened his maw, releasing a thick, dark-purple smog outward, propelling it towards the crustacean

The corphish looked at the purple gas-cloud and pushed itself backward. It evidently recognised the technique. Keeping its eyes on growlithe, the corphish lifted both pincers and launched twin jets of water at the smog, diluting it.

Had it been poison gas, it would have worked out exactly the way the corphish expected it to. But this was acid, and an extremely corrosive one at that. Over the course of his life, Growlithe had seen his acid melt rock, metal and almost anything else. It was why he had a special collar made up of a special alloy on his neck— everything else had been corroded by his Acid Smog.

The collar also acted as a means to put him in line, releasing an electric current straight into his body— easily enough to induce temporary paralysis on his person, but not enough to cause severe damage. After all, damaging what was essentially a successful experiment after hundreds of failures would not be treated casually.

The Acid Smog, despite the mild dilution, fell all over corphish's body, and much to the crustacean's surprise, a tiny hissing sound began to be produced as the corrosive substance began to burn through the outer layers of its shell. It would be a long time before it would eventually corrode through the skeleton, but the shock it felt from watching its outer layer essentially start dissolving was more than enough to throw the corphish's mind into discordance.

Taking advantage of its distraction, Growlithe slowly moved into Corphish's blind spot. For some reason, he was able to move through the acid with almost no problem. In the next instant, he opened his jaws open as wide as he could, allowing his corrosive acid to fill his mouth before bitting into the corphish's back. Its exoskeleton, while tough, simply melted under his acid, causing the corphish to screech in pain and fury.

This only made Growlithe bite down harder, inwardly rejoicing as he penetrated its exoskeleton with his fangs.

And then he ignited them.

The crustacean swayed and tried to throw him off, but with the acid corroding him from the outside, and the flames now burning him from the inside, Corphish could do _nothing_. Growlithe continued its latch on its back as its trashes weakened before it finally stilled. He held on for a few more seconds, to make sure that it wasn't playing dead, before tentatively releasing the creature's neck and slowly backed away.

Growlithe panted, still eyeing the dead pokémon, feeling somewhat tired as the adrenaline faded from his body. He had won and survived. Which meant he would be transferred to the Base. Today might be the last chance he would get to escape. He would have to—

_Hisssssss…_

_What is that? _Growlithe wondered for a moment before looking at a series of sinister-looking perforations along the walls of the battleground. They were releasing a gas, which quickly interacted with Growlithe's own senses.

_Sleep Powder… and Stun Spore? I should have… _The thought remained unfinished as the small creature collapsed, unmoving.

* * *

His senses were active. Well, most of them anyway. His sense of touch had gone awry, and the paralytic effect of the stun spore was keeping him from moving. His eyelids flickered— enough to let him know what was happening, but not enough for others to deduce that he was awake. The fact that his entire body was paralyzed probably helped too.

He'd need to throw it off as soon as possible. It would not do to destroy his sole chance of escape because of a little paralysis. Unknown to the workers in special bodysuits, Growlithe's body began working, producing minute amounts of acid. He needed the paralytic chemicals gone, and while he couldn't work on the chemicals directly, the affected tissues were fair game. Ironically, it was probably for the best that he was paralyzed right now. The corrosion of his inner tissues would likely cause him to spasm otherwise.

Two more humans— dressed completely in black —entered the room after that, firing those metallic strips from their wrists. He knew how those worked— they would first bind his mouth shut and then clamp his forelimbs and hindlimbs together, preventing any chance of escape. He was used to this treatment. At this point, any attempt at escape would be in vain. The paralysis slowly starting to lose effect but he remained unmoving

_Not yet._

He knew what was next. First was the needles— they'd poke his body with them multiple times. He had thought they were going to cut him up when it first happened, perhaps as some sick game that humans played but he soon realized that their goal was in the small bottles they kept filling. With his blood.

Why these humans needed to keep taking baffled him but he healed quickly, so it didn't really matter. Besides...

_If I pull this off, then none of this will matter anymore._

"Will that be all, Doctor Namba?"

The man in black, Growlethe noticed, seemed to be talking to the man in the white bodysuit.

"It should do. This specimen has been a success. The serum we have from this one will now undergo further testing. We need to see if we can use the serum to replicate our results on other growlithe. Regardless, we need to preserve this specimen. It remains incredibly valuable until we replicate the results. It will be sent to Ranch-6 for safekeeping. "

"And if the serum doesn't work?"

The doctor scoffed. "If not, it can always be used as breeding stock. Worst comes to worst, we'll have to vivisect it for further study. Though Proton has expressed his interest. He is weirdly interested in these… synthetic creatures.

"It can hardly move." The man in black spoke up.

"It hardly needs to," The doctor snorted " It can always undergo rehabilitation in the reserve if necessary. Now take this thing to the warehouse. Move it to Base F9 first thing tomorrow. Along with the eevee and the gligar. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

"Excellent," The doctor stated as he left the lab. "Get this one dealt with."

Before Growlithe could figure what that meant, a thin needle penetrated his skin, right beneath his neck, sending a searing pain down his spine.

What was going on? Wasn't he going to survive? Wasn't he supposed to be transported? Wasn't he— Had they known that he was awake all along?

At this point, it even hurt to think. Growlethe was almost happy to fall back into the gentle darkness.

* * *

...

…

…

The first thing that Growlethe noticed was his lack of pain.

Normally, whenever he had been injected with a strange drug, the pain would last for days. It was the sort of thing injected into captives that acted up or tried to escape. When Growlithe had experienced the raw pain back at the white-walled maze, he had thought that he had been caught pretending and had been sentenced to death.

But, he hadn't, and the pain…

_Oh._

His acid had worked in a sense. He had literally corroded some of his own tissue to burn out the aced. This was made harder by the fact that he was heavily resistant to his own acid. Regardless, whatever he had been injected with seemed to have dissipated which is why he was awake. From what he could ascertain, most of his wounds seemed to have regenerated, but before he checked any further, something else caught his attention.

He was not in the white-walled maze anymore.

It was a dimly lit room of some sort. He wished he could see more, but his cage didn't exactly give him a birdseye view of the situation. The two black-clad humans were sitting in chairs a little away from his new cag, but the white-robed ones were thankfully absent.

Growlethe did _not _like the whitecoat humans.

His current cage looked like it had seen better days, and probably wouldn't be too difficult to break through the main problem though was the large boulder-like creature. It had two large hands protruding out of the central rock, and while Growlithe was reliably certain that his acid could corrode it, it would take time. More than enough time for the rock-type to kill him. He glanced back at the two men, who seemed to be engrossed in some human form of recreation.

Growlithe thought a bit about his current situation. He smelt something pungent nearby, which was probably a Koffing, but past that, he could smell the earth and tree sap. The inference was clear—he was out of the maze, and probably somewhere in the middle of the forest. Did that mean that this was his chance of escape? Could it be possible?

He needed to be sure. His limbs still ached, but that was something he was used to. While the cage might be laughably easy to get out of, there was still the added difficulty of doing so without triggering everything else. He wrinkled his nose again.

_It smells disgusting._

"Hey, Colin," One of the men spoke, "You do have some meatloaves, right? Can't let it starve to death."

"Yeah" The other man responded. It's in the back.

"Say," The other human— Colin or something —said as he started making his way to the back of the warehouse, "if the doctor or any of the executives found out that we aren't taking the specimens to the reserve, and instead, giving them off to the… the..."

"Don't be squeamish about it, Colin." The first man spoke. "We're selling them to the Kanto League. You know that that's the only way out of this dump. It will grant us immunity."

"But… you know… it's the League. What happens if the whole thing crashes and burns? We're gonna be the ones picking up the pieces if the league decides to bail on us."

"That's not gonna happen," The man sounded a little less confident this time, "That's why I'm doing this through a mediator. We transfer the gligar first. It's a sickly little thing. Don't know what the crazy bastard finds 'successful' in that one. If the league thinks it good enough, then we can barter for immunity in exchange for information about the base, and get a higher price for the eevee and the growlithe. I know a man in Celadon who'd purchase that little son of a bitch for a high price."

"Who's this mediator?"

" He's… a friend. Don't worry"

"I don't…"

"Stop being so negative. We should celebrate. Even if this entire deal with the league falls apart, we can just transport the other two to the reserve. They're animals, you know. Accidents happen. We can just say it died somehow. As it is, the doctor barely looks into the basement."

"You've got a point there," Colin mumbled.

"Yeah, so why don't you fetch us one of those wine bottles? It's not like we have anything to do unless the customer arrives."

And so it continued. For one hour. And then the next.

The movements over the earth had ceased completely. Growlithe didn't really understand how, but he had always been rather… sensitive to such motion— the slightest vibrations enough to give him an indication of another's presence. Of course, his olfactory and auditory senses were sharper and more useful, but given how he had grown up, the third sense had been a boon.

No movements at all. Not even the rock-type seemed to move. The two people were still there, presumably sleeping. It was time.

A pair of crimson eyes lit up. The two men were still there, but the graveler wasn't. Had it rolled off in its sleep? Or perhaps it had been returned to its pokéball.

From what his senses told him, it was dark outside.

_Perfect._

With exaggerated slowness, he lifted his head, liberating a thick, viscous substance from his mouth. It wasn't the same Acid Smog he had used earlier. This was a concentrated version of it, superheated to extreme temperatures to create a highly corrosive substance. It was the only thing he had been able to keep to himself, and not display during those death-matches.

The vile stench of the vapor permeated the room, slowly diffusing into the air. The important part was that the metal cage had almost been fully corroded. Just a few seconds more and there would be an open gate for Growlithe to break out of.

Freedom was near.

"Eh!" One of the men moved in his sleep. "Such a vile stench. That weezing of yours got out again. Return it, you moron."

Growlithe felt hysteria coming down on him. If the humans realized what was going on, he would probably be killed. There was no time to waste any longer.

It was time for action.

Without further ado, he exhaled again, burning his way through the rest of the rods, leaping out of it, fighting an irrepressible urge to woof in joy of his new-found freedom.

"Put that weezing away, Colin." The man spoke out, a little louder this time.

"I don't have it. It's in the other room." Colin mumbled, wrinkling his nose as the smell got to him as well..

Growlithe didn't stick around. He was finally free. Silently, he leaped out of the chamber and ran out, his paw-pads dampening the sounds his feet made while running. He crossed the outer corridor and reached a second room, with a large metallic gate in the center, and walls all around.

_Dead end. I cannot climb out of this. Burning my way out will take too long. What do I—?_

The answer was right there, floating a few feet above him.

Koffing and weezing.

There were two of the former, and one of the latter. All three levitating above the ground, snoring away happily. They seemed to be connected by some sort of tube system. At the very least most of the gas they were releasing was being collected.

Their vile, stinky, poisonous and more importantly _ignitable_ gas.

For the first time in a very long while Growlithe smiled.

* * *

Mawile was having a bad week.

An excruciatingly bad week to be honest. It had all started with her own vexation with Shellder's impudence, something that had led them to encounter the orangette Misty, and things had only spiraled downward from there. Red, like the doofus he was, had agreed to provide his services and catch her those bugs in return for a meager amount of money. Mawile had almost face-palmed when he had agreed without even bargaining over the contracted amount.

And had lost his, and Mawile's independence and peace of mind in the process.

It had been slow and subtle in the beginning. The orangette had put on high airs and pretended to lord over Red when it came to decision-making. That had led them through a wild goose-chase for two days before Red had grown a spine and revolted against her, though Mawile liked to think that it was her personal tantrums that had gotten to him and made him realize the truth.

And look, in less than half a week's time, they had gotten two of the bugs captured. Mawile shuddered to think what would have happened if Red had allowed Misty to lead the way all this time. With the way her luck worked, she'd still be circling the forest. You'd think that the experience would be enough for Red to identify the cause of his troubles— the orangette —and force her to let him do his job and keep her mouth shut. But no, he still kept talking to her, and the orangette kept mincing words back.

_Clever girl!_

Of course, Mawile knew it all. She understood that the orangette had simply changed tactics. It was practically Deception 101. Lording around didn't work since the environment wasn't suitable. Pretending to be high-strung and a snob didn't work as well for similar reasons. That was why the orangette, Misty— a name Mawile had come to hate —had changed tracks and was now trying to woo Red for his affections. It had become so unbearable that Mawile had decided to retire to her pokéball and rest for a while, clinging to the futile possibility that an extended exposure to the girl might point out the truth to him.

After all, if you pummelled someone in the face enough, sooner or later they understood that you were not to be trifled with. Exposure to the orangette shouldn't have been any different. Any sensible individual would probably understand that.

_Right?_

She couldn't have been more wrong.

Apparently, over a day had passed since Mawile had returned to her pokéball. Since then, the two humans had nearly been impaled by pinsir— Mawile didn't know what they were, but she supposed that they'd be strong enough to incite such a reaction —and apparently Red had saved her in some peculiar fashion. When he had finally released Mawile and company later in the evening, they even had a tent ready, and what was worse —the orangette would be sleeping in their tent.

Mawile had a strong suspicion that this orangette had access to the more chaotic energies and was somehow ensnaring Red. What else could explain the fact that Shellder liked her? Both freeloaders, both having the eerie similarity of attracting Red's attention through dubious means, and most importantly, both being sources of headache for her. At least Shellder was good at Double Team and had this weird water-type move under progress. All Misty did was bark.

It drove her mad. For one moment, she had even considered eating the orange monster up, but Red would be very angry and she didn't want to provoke him. She had the experience of an annoyed Red, and knowing him, he could come up with some pretty innovative ways to punish her.

Thoughts of the notebook flickered through her mind.

Shaking off the morbid thoughts of sinister possibilities in the near-future, Mawile considered the more immediate concern that was plaguing her. Well, not just her in general, but the entire group.

Someone had stolen their food. Their dinner had vanished from right under their noses. Red hadn't painstakingly cooked food for her, Skarmory and 'the freeloaders' just so that someone could prey upon it. Mawile wouldn't have minded if it was only Misty's food that had been stolen. She was just awful and deserved to have her food stolen. In fact, if Mawile was teaching someone how to steal, Misty's food would be the first target.

After all, every thief needed to grow into their maturity and while it was important to dream big, it was essential to start small. Start with lesser, insignificant things, and steal from those who deserved it. The art of theft was no simple technique and needed to be honed with due diligence. She'd know.

But to steal from her? That was sacrilege, and Mawile wanted to pronounce judgment on this depraved pervert, whoever it might be. She'd tear their impudent hide off their skin with her jaw for this transgression and—

"Mawile, stop frowning at your bowl and eat it. I'll make something nicer for you in the morning." Red's voice shook her from her train of thought.

"Mawa?"

She spared a moment of her attention on Red to see if he had anything else to say, before the little bowl of standard poké-food and two poképuffs attracted her attention. Without another word, she silently gobbled up the poképuffs before glancing down at the center-provided poké-food with extreme distaste. Red's cooking was far better than this, and while she could always pray on some bugs the following day, Mawile couldn't help but feel cheated.

"Come on," Red tried pleadingly, using what he perhaps thought was his puppy-dog face. "Even Skarmory's eating it. In the morning, we'll see if we can find whoever stole our food."

Of course they would, Mawile mused, vindictive thoughts prowling in her mind. She'd find out the identity of this thief and then inflict her displeasure. She'd ensure that the message properly sunk in. Nothing a couple of Iron Heads couldn't achieve. It was almost a mystery just how effective a good slam did when it came to delivering one's opinion on lesser beings. Too bad that Shellder had a near-impervious shell to protect it, and the orangette was lucky enough to be a human. Not that it'd help her in the long run since she'd certainly—

"Mawile?"

_Oh for goodness sake! _Not wanting to displease her trainer, she scrunched up her nose and gobbled the rest. She'd plan later when Red was asleep, and this Misty creature was sleeping as well. Knowing her, she'd probably snore like Mabel, and not allow Mawile any sleep. She felt a particularly strong urge to eat Misty's head before glancing at Red and sighing in resignation.

_The things I do for Red._

* * *

**Two days later**

It had been a bad idea. Well, that wasn't totally Red's fault, since Mawile herself was also to blame for it. Come to think of it, it was totally her fault. What had she been thinking, putting Red in charge of dealing with such a situation? Red, who had allowed a dumb mute to latch on to him for days for no good reason, and then had spent money on TMs for it to actually develop talents. Nature itself dictated that it deserved little more than sinking to the bottom of a river and remaining a pebble for eternity.

This was also the same Red who had allowed that cunning orangette to take heart from Shellder's success, and latch onto Red for her own devious reasons. And Mawile had given him the job of preventing a near-invisible thief from stealing her food.

Yep, it was totally her fault.

There had been a repeat of the theft the next day afternoon. The morning had gone well since Red had been wonderful. He had given her two extra poképuffs for breakfast. As she often swore, Red was wonderful. Mawile had then, helped herself to a couple of random bugs that had unfortunately wandered around their tent. Nothing fancy, just a couple of caterpie and a weedle. Come to think of it, she needed to avoid preying on weedle unless there was a lack of alternatives. Those tiny pointed horns were rather sharp and if Mawile hadn't been careful, she could have injured herself.

Mawile shuddered at the ominous possibility for a second, before returning to her doleful reminiscence.

Most of the day hours had been spent in her practicing a rather interesting technique Red referred to as Flash. Of course, Red being Red, had described it using large and wordy formats, before Mawile had imperiously turned to Skarmory for some… interpretation. Turned out '_gather energy and blast it' _worked pretty well, despite the alarmingly simple description. However, like all of the moves Red had made her learn (not that it had been a bad thing), _Flash _also had a secondary, albeit much harder derivative.

Steel energy, much like fire, was extremely luminous, and if molded into a condensed state, could actually serve as a constant source of energy. Once created, the tiny light-ball (as Mawile preferred to call it) would provide light for as long as a constant input of steel-energy was being infused. Red had said something about reflective surfaces and some other jargon, but the point was, the ball made light.

And it was a big pain in the jaw. For all she cared, she could create a single light-ball, and let it burn for a while, and upon extinguishing, she could procure a second ball in a second. Why that seemed like an outrageous and inapplicable suggestion to Red was anybody's guess. No, he insisted on her being able to maintain a constant and steady connection to the light ball. She was really beginning to hate it.

Yeah, Red was wonderful on occasion, but he was also a brat. At times. He was lucky that she favored him.

Either way, it was a completely exhausted and tired Mawile that had turned to a delicious lunch only to find that the large piece of preserved steak that Red had cooked had vanished. Right beneath her nose. Literally. Everything that she had been looking forward too had vanished in a whiff of air, and that was all there was to it.

Red had settled for a confused look, while the orangette and her pet croconaw had begun to blabber something obviously unhelpful and stupid. Shellder had kept up its best impression of a non-sentient organism and Skarmory… she had been a little more pragmatic and flown into the forest to hunt.

Slamming her jaw at every single nearby rock, pebble, or flower wasn't particularly helpful in finding the thief but it did make her feel better. That said, it probably made it clear that Mawile was not above impressing her wrath on inanimate objects. Even Misty and her faithful Croconaw had stopped their nonsense blabber after that.

At least Red had the sense to get her some poképuffs from his considerably depleted collection. Had he mustered a little bit of courage back in Viridian, they might have gotten back Mawile's treasure chest, but that was neither here nor there.

The next day had been a repeat of the first, and just as she had anticipated, the food had vanished before either of them could have done anything. That said, there had been some progress. From what Mawile understood, the thief was an alarmingly fast creature, who _also _employed deception (like any self-respecting thief would). A high-pitched noise had flooded her eardrums, inducing extreme discomfort and causing Mawile to clench her teeth in extreme irritation. And before she knew it, the discomforting sound had vanished, as had their food.

Red had stared at the leftover kitchen equipment for several minutes. Perhaps he had been hoping that staring at it for long would cause food to materialize. Not that she could blame him. Magic happened, right?

Mawile had helped herself to four weedle that afternoon, furiously crunching their horns with extra emphasis. Just another cast off a little of her ever-growing anger. Either the thief would show itself and claim responsibility for its actions, or Mawile was going to be the reason for weedle's addition on the endangered species list. Of course, the universe had failed to conjure up dark clouds or spark ominous lightning at her proclamation like it rightly should have.

But enough was enough, and she had forced Red to finally act on it. They had put Croconaw (and the inconspicuous Shellder) in charge of the tent, to look for this insolent thief. It had seemed like a good idea. For all Mawile knew, the thief was probably a few yards away, lounging in peace and helping itself to Red's hard-cooked food. After a lot of convincing on Red's part (and some well-timed glares from Mawile), the orangette had finally settled in releasing her Starmie (a dull thing if any) and set out to look for the thief by herself. Skarmory had simply flown upwards to keep track of everyone while also trying to look around for the thief.

* * *

**Three hours later**

The entire hunt had been useless, apart from the two average caterpie that served as an impromptu snack for the evening. After that atrocity committed by that one giant variant, Mawile had been a little too eager to inflict her displeasure on others of its kind. Metapod were quite… hard, and thus, boring, and butterfree lived past her reach.

The purpose of the above show of frustration was actually quite obvious. There had been no sightings of said thief. Whoever it was, seemed to be made of air, like the mute's clones. Mawile had the sneaking suspicion that Shellder was the actual culprit, and was using his clones for such malice. Knowing Red's gullibility, he'd probably not even consider Shellder's hand in the crime. Misty was obviously too much impressed by Shellder's deception to speak against it.

"Tough luck I guess," Red muttered, as he walked next to Mawile, "I've got to give it to him. This thief is good. We got no trace of it at all."

_Yes, thank you very much. You have a wonderful talent for stating the obvious. _Mawile thought furiously, though keeping her scathing answers to herself. She didn't want to feed on sub-par food for dinner, which was why she had been rather… active during the entire hunt. She'd probably make Red give her a couple of poképuffs before calling it a night. Not that it was too difficult. Just a little bit of her charm and Red folded like a pack of cards. He was wonderful that way.

"Don't worry." Red tried to placate her. "I have something in mind. Whatever this thief is, it's obviously too fast to be human, and knowing where we are in, it is obviously some kind of pokémon. I'll cook a bigger meal tomorrow, and regardless of whether we get to eat it, we'll catch this thief."

Mawile couldn't care less about Red's newfound conviction, though she tried to smile encouragingly. Growth should be encouraged, even if it was doomed to failure.

"Well, at least we got back safely," Red muttered, seeing the bright lantern glowing outside the tent in the darkness. "Want some of the center pokéfood? It really isn't that bad"

Mawile shook her head.

"Poképuffs then?" Red sighed. " I do have quite a few left over"

Nod.

_Finally._

At least something good would happen to her today. They would be delicious she decided. Good enough that she'd forget about her horrible day and just indulge in their delicious perfection Without further ado, she sprinted past the couple of trees between her and Red's tent, where she was sure lay Red's backpack, and somewhere in or around it, was her favorite packet. Why, she could even forget the entire useless experience of the hunt as long as she had—

Mawile's thoughts came down to a screeching halt. Her face vivid with pure horror as she stared at the oblivious Croconaw draped all over the floor.

_Wasn't Croconaw supposed to be on guard, while we hunted?_

A single vein crept up her forehead, as an ominous premonition flooded her senses. Without delay, she sprinted into the tent, searching through Red's belongings with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, before she her worst fears came to light.

Her poképuffs were gone.

And something inside her shattered.

With a feral cry, Mawile raised her jaw, literally leaping towards the oblivious Croconaw, her eyes red with rage at the loss of the thing she was currently craving the most. Perhaps on introspecting this event in the future, Mawile would arrive at the conclusion that it wasn't so much as the loss of her poképuffs, but her loss of control on the situation. The experience over the week inside the forest, her growing irritation and the lack of good food, were coming together much like an unstable mixture boiling in a cauldron. The present event, it was simply the last twig dropped into it, and the result was a powerful explosion.

Three layers of steel-energy wove across the surface of the black jaw, as Mawile leaped towards the sleeping water-type, the energies crackling on the surface of her jaw promising lethal injury if not outright death to the victim. From the other side, Misty yelled in shock and fear, but Mawile paid her no mind. Vengeance would be hers and she'd get it, carved out of—

"Return." Came a cold voice.

A thin red light impaled into her body from the right, and Mawile turned, still in mid-air, as she recognized Red standing a little further away from her, his pokéball in hand. For one moment, Mawile was flooded with feelings of utter betrayal and confusion, before it shifted to rage as she tried to ignore the feeling of being sucked into the pokéball. She'd have her vengeance upon Croconaw, and no pokéball would stop her. Mawile let out a feral screech and pushed herself forward, her entire momentum being dragged out of her, as she fought against the suction of the capture device.

The red light faded, and Mawile dropped down to the ground, a few steps away from the still oblivious Croconaw. Every single muscle ached as if she had just ran a marathon. A part of her over the suction powers of the little device. It was almost like running up a steep hill.

But that was for later. Revenge was first. She pushed herself up and raised her jaw to bring it down.

"ENOUGH!" Red yelled. "That's enough of your rage. Calm yourself!"

Mawile snarled back.

"Croconaw is not _sleeping. _He's unconscious." Red barked. "Look for yourself."

Mawile didn't want to care. Croconaw had failed in his job of keeping guard. The water-type was sprawled upon the ground, with his forelimbs pressed against his large ears. Come to think of it, the clumsy creature had been more than just irritated the last time that discomforting noise had been used by the thief.

Mawile grunted noncommittally.

"Whoever's stealing our food has probably used that high-frequency sound on Croconaw, and he's proved more vulnerable to it than anyone else among us. If anything, it was my mistake to leave him alone for guarding." His eyes narrowed. "Are you going to attack me for that?"

_Of course not! _Mawile snarling in her own tongue.

"I'll get you your poképuffs when we get out of the forest. Instead of directing your anger at Croconaw, direct it where it's needed. Catch the thief next time. " Red chastised.

"Your pokémon is a _savage._" Misty hissed from her position, running towards the still unconscious Croconaw. "She should be sent to the reserves and detained until she's civilized."

"And _you," _Red snarled back, surprising Misty by the venom in his voice, "before you go on about Mawile's shortcomings. What were you doing, screaming around like a dumb idiot? Do you have a pokéball or not? Why didn't you return Croconaw when I was trying to hold Mawile back?"

"How can you even—?" Misty began, only to be shut up as Red raised a hand.

"I was not finished."

"But you can't just—"

"You can't attack people." Red finished for her, silencing her midway. "That will be made very clear. But, Mawile has been frustrated over weeks over the theft of proper food. For better or worse, you also voted for Croconaw to stand guard over our meals, without realizing how it might have turned up for him. Mawile thought he was being lax. Lax over something that caused her to lose something important to her, and she retaliated."

"But can't you just see how feral she was?"

"I didn't see her attacking you_, _but I remember Croconaw attacking me when we first met," Red retorted cooly, shutting her up. His expression hard, he turned towards Mawile to ask—

"Mawile?"

* * *

Mawile stormed out of the tent, boiling in rage. Red was an idiot, a blithering idiot to have taken the Orange and her stupid croconaw's side. Why did he try to defend them, if it meant opposing her side? She furiously stomped on the grasses, swinging her massive jaw all around in anger, almost wishing to find something to slam it against. It wouldn't help with anything, but logic was the last thing on her mind.

Perhaps she could consider quitting her change of plans and return to Plan 1— deserting her human trainer the moment they were far from Pallet Town. It wouldn't even matter. She had been strong earlier, and her recent battles had proved that she had gained even more strength. The Ursaring back in Viridian could swear to that. Stupid Red could stay with the stupid orangette and the stupid annoyance for all she cared. She was free, and that was all that mattered. As far as the forest and its bugs were concerned, anything that displayed aggression towards her would get introduced to her jaws, and would then become her dinner for the night. Come the next morning, she'd probably feast on some poképuffs from Red's bag and then—

Well, that wasn't quite right. She was walking away, and that meant no more poképuffs. Then again, she could simply eat a bigger bug and feed herself. Red could do whatever he wanted. It wasn't like she cared or anything. Besides, it wasn't like Red did anything for her and—

The image of Red taking a defensive stand against the Fearow to protect her came to mind. That was swiftly replaced with him trying to swim through the waters of the river, ensuring Mawile's own safety before his own. Then there was the way he got he poképuffs, tended to her wounds, laughed with her and cuddled her. How he would frown good-naturedly when Mawile would shake her head and avoid his cooking, and then he'd give her something delicious as compensation. How he would—

Mawile shook her head. This was getting complicated. She wasn't supposed to start getting attached to her human trainer. But he was no longer a 'human trainer', he had become _Red, _and she had begun associating his presence as a permanent fixture in her little life and—

…. Stupid Red.

Come to think of it, she might have exaggerated her response back then. Red was obviously telling the truth, and Croconaw was a dopey little piece of shit, easily driven to unconsciousness. She'd know. The water-type was exactly the kind of creature that deserved to get deceived.

But now she had snarled at Red in anger and demonstrated an unpleasant attitude towards him. She didn't like it, but it was no less true.

She… She couldn't leave him. She didn't want to leave him. He was the first person to accept her fully for what she was. She'd have to make it up to him. Perhaps… perhaps she'd work a little harder on the Flash technique and—

Mawile looked up and blinked.

A large lavender face with a big, black nose blinked back.

_Well… this is new!_

* * *

Freedom, Growlithe mused, was overhyped.

For a captive from birth, freedom had been an impossible dream, the guiding star in an otherwise hopeless life. The desire to be out of the white-walled maze, away from those men-in-white, and leap off into the large, ostentatious world outsideë that was essentially all that was driving him. Considering that escaping from the white-walled maze was something he had never succeeded in over the years, he hadn't really given much thought over what he'd do after he acquired said freedom.

It had been over six hours since he escaped, and given the dramatic ending, it was obvious that the men inside the quarters would be searching for him by now. Knowing the humans, they likely had multiple aces up their sleeves, and could possibly find him despite the distance. Had he been a normal Growlithe, he could have run faster, much faster, and probably been out of the forest by now. Then again, had he been a normal Growlithe, he'd have never been born and bred as a captive in the first place.

Something shifted around him, and for a moment, Growlithe feared that he had been caught. Had those men-in-black found him? Would they capture him, drag him back to the white-walled prison all over again? Mutiny rose in his heart, as flames inundated within his maw. His crimson eyes blinked in the dark, sensing the body heat of the organism so close to him.

And stopped.

This wasn't a human. It was too small to be one. Growlithe sniffed. It smelled of grass and pollen, and a few other scents he didn't recognize. A grass-type then? Come to think of it, he hadn't really eaten anything since the final test, and who knew how long he had been unconscious? Besides, the entire escaping had taken a lot out of him, and he needed some sustenance.

_Killing for sustenance. This will be a first._

Back at the white-walled maze, he had been fed with quality food. The men-in-white didn't starve him, not in the least. If anything, he got more than enough food, and as such, his only kills had been limited to the death-match arena. But now, he'd have to kill for food. A curious thought, but ultimately, not of importance. He might have been bred in captivity, but some primal senses never left.

Growlithe opened his mouth and let out a small clump of flames, half-charring the grass-type. It was, he mused, a surprisingly easy win. The little grass-type, which Growlithe now recognized as a tangela, raised several of its vines, trying to keep him off, but Growlithe was in no mood for games.

_These… pokémon are much weaker than the ones in the maze. _He thought in contempt. Had they made no effort to improve because there were no captors?

_Freedom has made them complacent. Weak._

Dodging the haphazardly thrown vines with ease, he released small amounts of his Acid Smog, enveloping the grass-type within it. As expected, the tangela squeaked and hissed in pain, feeling its vines burn as they made contact with the corrosive vapors.

_Time to end it._

Without further delay, Growlithe leaped right into the smog, and bit into the tangela's head, killing it instantly. He hadn't realized just how hungry he was until now.

_Time is of the essence. They could be nearby._

He quickly finished his first meal, before continuing to walk through the forest. Running was hard, and his leg muscles were aching from the earlier affairs, so a long walk would have to do. He was still hungry but he couldn't afford to stick around. He had to keep moving.

_This is enough to continue for now. Not enough to be fulfilling._

A few meters away, a bush rustled.

_Another pokémon? Food?_

Growlithe almost laughed at the sudden shift in world view. It was almost frightening how quickly he was becoming a part of the larger world.

_Is this what it means to be free?_

The bushes rustled a little more.

_Still… it's probably best to be careful._

For the second time, Growlithe was thankful that the pads beneath his feet subdued most of the sounds from his footsteps. He slowly crept towards the bush, making sure not to alert whatever was inside. The bush was still rustling. He used his paw to slowly push the foliage aside, ready to belch out acid at the slightest provocation—

And came face to face with a tiny, overwhelmingly cute, ivory-ish creature.

"Maw?" Said cute creature tilted her head, almost in confusion.

Growlithe let out a soft bark. He hadn't exactly expected to meet something this… cute, in the middle of a giant forestland. Then again, what did he know about the workings of the world? But, something about this creature seemed… off.

Growlithe sniffed.

_So that's it._

The creature in front of him didn't belong to the forest. She smelled of flesh, and human and something sweet. Something… endearing, and yet, there was a lingering smell of grass.

_A traveler perhaps?_

Growlithe was no expert, but even he could guess that someone so… vulnerable would probably perish by herself. But the smell of a human… could it be…?

"Are you here to kill me?"

The creature tilted its head in confusion. "Are you the one who stole my poképuffs?"

…

…

"Poképuffs?"

"You mean you don't know?" The strange pokémon widened its eyes, before looking at him in... _pity?_ "How can you… not know?"

_Not an attacker then. _Growlithe inferred. "Who are you?"

The cute little thing tilted its head to the other side in confusion. It seemed to do that a lot. "I'm Mawile."

"Growlithe."

"I know. What's an annoying puppy like you doing in this forest?"

Growlithe frowned. _Annoying puppy?_ "I am… trying to get out of the forest."

"What happened? Your trainer desert you or something?" The Mawile asked, her voice filled with disinterest. "You do look… a bit dopey.."

"...Dopey?"

Mawile sighed. Growlithe assumed that the conversation was going nowhere. A part of him really wanted to get away from the forest as fast as he could, but there was no telling how long it would take. He had no idea how big the forest was, so perhaps this… Mawile could help him? He needed to be sure.

"Dopey, as in… easy to manipulate. Like my trainer, Red, my trainer. Just so you know, he's wonderful, and gives me poképuffs whenever I want them."

"Is that a pokémon? Red?"

"Human." Mawile corrected him. "He's my trainer."

"What's that?"

Mawile blinked. "What kind of rock have you been living under?"

Growlithe though back to his prison for a moment before replying. "A white-walled one."

More blinking.

"Though… I was transferred to some dark building with high walls and an iron gate, so I can't really tell you about that one. It was very large." Growlithe paused. "But, what does that have to do with a… tryner?"

"Trainer." Mawile corrected. Growlithe had a sneaking suspicion that even this Mawile felt that the discussion was going nowhere. "So you escaped or something?"

Ah. this was familiar ground. Growlithe felt happy. "Yep. Just a few hours ago. Yourself?"

Mawile blinked again. She sure loved blinking. That, or it was a deeply ingrained habit. "I. Didn't. Escape." She spoke as if she were trying to educate a child. A deplorably, unintelligent child. Then again, Growlithe was pretty much a newbie as far as freedom was concerned, so he didn't mind.

"Then?"

"I am here with my trainer, you doofus. My human trainer."

"Human…. Trainer?" Thoughts of men-in-white injecting him with things that left him burning in agony came to mind. "And what does a human trainer do?"

"Well, I fight for him."

Fight…. Memories, recent and old, came to mind. Fighting off a red water-type, getting bound and strangled by a vicious Arbok…

"And he has all those thingies, they get injected into my mind, and I learn new moves…"

"..."

"And training, lots of it. Red's practically obsessed with training, but I don't mind." Mawile chattered on. "I like training. Sometimes I get hurt and everything, but Red has those berries and sprays that get me back to my feet and I continue."

Growlithe stepped back in horror. From what he could deduce, the mawile creature in front of him had suffered through the same cruel existence as he did. Fighting opponents in deathmatches in return for food, and getting injected with all sorts of things that produced strange reactions in his body. What was worse, was that she was almost happy with her condition, almost like it was nice. Perhaps this poképuff thing was used to modify her thought process?

Growlithe made up his mind. It would delay him, but he couldn't leave someone to suffer like he did. Though he didn't understand why he wanted to help her so badly. While he empathized with his fellow prisoners, he never felt any great desire to help them.

"Do you want me to help you escape?"

And there she went blinking again. "Escape?"

"Yeah. We can run away together. You don't have to suffer through that painful existence anymore. I ran away, and so can you."

"So you are a stray?" Mawile asked. "But you don't know about human trainers, so it's obviously not… the usual."

"What does it matter? We can run, and we can escape? I can protect you, and you can have my back in the strange, dangerous world out there. We don't have to suffer anymore."

"... Oh, I see. Another strange one. Just my luck." Mawile muttered.

"Huh?"

"I'm not trying to escape, you silly doofus. I have a trainer, and he's wonderful. Granted, we don't see eye to eye on a couple of things, but all of that's because of 'Orange', and not Red's fault." Mawile stepped back and looked away, scoffing as she did, before continuing. "And mind you, I'll get my vindication on Orange before she knows it."

"Orange?"

"Yeah, a woman, a vile beguiling witch, ensnaring upon my poor human trainer, and making him dance to her will."

"That sounds ominous."

"Doesn't it?" Mawile's emotions felt contagious, what with the way she looked at him with bright, spirited eyes and for a moment, Growlithe felt his heart flutter, what with the way those bright eyes seemed to pierce into his soul.

"So… what are you going to do about it?"

Mawile scowled, kicking the grass beneath her feet in defiance. Personally, Growlithe thought it was cute. "I'll figure something out… Red is easily pleased, and while he's a bit angry with me right now, I'm sure I can make it up to him. When I do, he'll praise me and forget about Orange."

"And this Red… human, you want to keep getting abused by him?"

Mawile blinked again. Must be a deeply-ingrained habit, Growlithe affirmed.

"Red gets abused, he's not the abuser you dummy. That's why the mute… and the Orange can get so much out of him. Though Skarmory is much better, albeit too boisterous for her own good. But don't worry. I'll catch up to her level soon." Mawile paused. "Anyway, what about you? Where are you from, stray?"

"I'm not a stray." Growlithe corrected. "I fought for my freedom and escaped. Speaking of which, do you know how to get out of the forest?"

"Red might know. He's got a map after all."

"I don't trust humans, and neither should you." Growlithe retorted. "Humans mistreat us, and inflict heinous torture on us. Why would you stand and suffer, when you can embrace freedom like I have?"

"...Freedom?"

"Yes. Freedom. It is glorious. I can go wherever I like, eat whatever I want, and no one can bind me." Growlithe went on in what he thought was his most inspirational voice. "You are tiny and vulnerable but I can protect you." He never noticed the sudden, almost eager shaking of the black protrusion on the back of her head.

"...really? And what if some other humans catch you?"

"I'll burn them."

"They have water-types you know."

"Cruel creatures. Inflicting slavery upon us pokémon. I had thought that I was unnatural and therefore held captive. Now I find the entire world captive."

Mawile muttered something like 'idealist' and 'go figure', but Growlithe was too engrossed in his spirited speech for freedom against oppression.

"What do you mean you are unnatural?"

Growlithe almost grinned, or whatever passed for a grin. "I have some… special abilities." He frowned, his cynicism catching on quickly, realizing that he might just have overspoken, "though that might be because of those humans experimenting on me."

Mawile seemed to be in serious thought, making him wonder what wheels were turning in her little mind. Finally, she let out a sigh and nodded at him. "My trainer does not experiment on me, and he takes good care of me too. Perhaps you can meet him. He will probably help you."

"No human can possibly help me. Humans only exploit and torture."

"But you told me that you'd help me get back against the Orange."

"I never…." Growlithe denied in hesitation, stepping back a little.

"You mean you won't?" Mawile stressed, her cute charm returning with full force. That, along with her puppy-dog eyes and the way she pronounced 'mawwww' made it really hard for Growlithe to deny the little creature. He lowered his eyes, looking away for a moment, before slowly turning back in silent resignation. "Okay, I might be… I mean… I'll always protect you."

Growlethe didn't understand why he was so attracted to the creature. It was almost supernatural. He didn't really know a lot about mating, but perhaps he could see a future with this Mawile. From what he could understand, there was a high probability that her human trainer was being bewitched by this Orange_, _and Mawile would be left alone, all by herself. Perhaps, then she would see that he was right.

After how his own life had been, it was rather surprising since he could almost see himself as Mawile's protector, keeping her safe from the evils of the world. Perhaps, he could contribute to a future with her, bonding over their individual pasts. He noticed the black protrusion on her back move upwards and guessed that it might be a sign of her shy acceptance. Gathering a little more courage, he pushed his head towards her, in an attempt to—

**WHAAAAAAAAAAM!**

Growlithe unceremoniously dropped down to the grassy floor, the powerful Iron Head ripping his consciousness from him in a single attack. His paws flat and spread out on all sides, he lay on the grass. Unmoving.

Mawile let out a soft giggle.

_Finally. _She thought to herself. _I thought he was never going to shut up. Stupid idealistic thing… but it might suit Red. It looks a little different from normal, but Red probably won't notice._

She remembered meeting a couple of growlithe back at Pomace Mountain. Mabel had this business of floral decoration going on, and one of the clients had two of those horribly loyal puppies, clinging religiously to every single word their trainer uttered. Back then, Mawile had thought of them as sub-intelligent species in general, but after her recent experiences in traveling with Red, a growlithe seemed like an ideal addition. This one was rather dopey, so perhaps it would take a liking to Red. Fletchinder of the same feather and all that.

_Now all I need to do is get this idiot to Red so that he can capture it. Seriously, I thought humans were supposed to be notorious for capturing and enslaving pokémon. Currently, the only one enslaved is Red, if Shellder and Orange are of any indication. Skarmory was practically my gift to him for being a good human, and so is this Growlithe. I'll have to let him catch a pokémon on his own next time._

She allowed herself a moment to bask at her own sense of magnanimity.

Mawile sniffed. Hopefully Red would be happy with this. She just made up on her part by getting him this puppy. Reciprocation and all that.

_He better praise me for this. Asking him to let go of Orange and her stupid is probably asking for too much, but maybe I can get some poképuffs when we get out of this stupid forest. I deserve that much at least._

Mawile thought of her trainer's gentle head paths and warmth_. And cuddles._ She decided. _Nice, soft warm cuddles._

She looked down at the unconscious puppy. It would be a mess if it woke up before she managed to drag it all the way to Red. She tapped the now unconscious growlithe a few times.

No movement.

She punched his nose.

Still no movement.

_Well, it looks unconscious enough. But just to avoid issues…._

She whacked it on its head two more times, and then after a moment of doubt, hit it a third time for good luck. Satisfied with her temporary solution, she pushed her jaw beneath the furry beast, with Growlithe's face and frontal limbs hanging in front of her face and sides. Confident with her technique, Mawile began to walk.

Perhaps this was what they called returning in triumph.

* * *

**Meanwhile in Pallet Town**

"This seems to be a serious issue."

Delia sagged down on the chair, lips pinched, staring at the marble floor. Ever since her encounter with Mia's… strangeness, she had been completely distressed. Of course, the Ralts-line were creatures of emotion, so Mia feeling a little empty after Red's leaving was not completely unexpected. That said, she had never imagined it to go this far.

"Are you… completely sure?" Samuel asked, slowly pacing across the floor "Perhaps it is simply the effect of the recent events taking a toll out of you."

"It is not that." Delia refuted. "I am a psychic researcher, professor. I know better than to make snap-judgments. I have considered every possibility, every side effect, and even my own… shortcomings as a parent, but nothing adds up. I even went to a psychiatrist to verify my hypothesis and it stands true. Whatever happened, it was caused by her, whatever this is."

"Can you expound on that? Your theory about it."

"Mia is faking. She is actively suppressing herself from being happy, and detaching herself from everything around her that brings her happiness." Delia replied, pursing her lips. "I know what you are thinking, I have considered that as well. Kirlia are supposed to actively feed on happiness from their surroundings, so what Mia is ding is literally _anathema _to her kin. There is a reason that the ralts-line is not used in battle. Causing pain to others literally hurts them. Ordering a gardevoir to harm something is like trying to order a charizard to eat its own arm."

"And you think that Mia is experiencing that because Red left on his—" Oak began skeptically.

"It might sound _childish _if you consider it in that manner, but that's not the way Mia sees it. A Ralts, ninety-five percent of the time, grows up amongst its own kin, amidst derives their happiness from. It is literally the feedback loop that fuels their growth. A trained ralts will usually derive its happiness from the surrounding humans and pokémon. Mia, on the other hand, has spent almost all her formative years with Red. I think she has subconsciously been feeding on Red, exclusively."

"You mean—"

"I mean that Red's decision for leaving on a journey, and leaving Mia behind might have had graver consequences that we had anticipated. Especially because in his enthusiasm— from what I understand —Mia has been feeling that she has been deserted, substituted, and left alone. Her source of sustenance in terms of joy is gone."

"And so..." The elderly professor asked.

Delia looked uncertain. "Upon my exposure to her… strangeness, and subsequent research into the matter, I came across a certain article, made by a freelance researcher in Johto. The article had a lot of redacted text and mentions related to legendary myths, which is probably why it was rated lower in terms of authenticity. I was able to contact this person over it, and he mentioned something that he called The Shift."

Oak stopped pacing. "What—what did you say?"

"_The Shift_?" Delia repeated, a little surprised at why the senior researcher looked… flustered at the mention. "Have you heard the term before?"

Oak rubbed the tip of his nose. "Who's this person?"

"Someone named Eusine. I checked on the International Database, and it seems that he's somewhat… scoffed at, by the majority of the research world, though he gives the impression of being a history buff, from the way his texts talk about destroyed civilizations, ancient myths, and trapped deities." She paused for a breath. "Though, he has also worked on an international scale, and seems to have co-authored several books in the past with prominent figures in our world."

Oak looked like he was going to have an aneurysm.

"Something wrong?"

"No… nothing. Nothing yet, anyway. What did Eusine tell you about Mia's condition?"

"He couldn't." She admitted, "though he did mention several references about a pokémon, usually of an esoteric type, to embrace 'The Call', and undergo a change. He calls this phenomenon _The Shift."_

"And what do you think about it?"

"I… am not sure. If my knowledge is correct," she spoke in a clinical fashion, "then the Kirlia line thrive and develop proficiency in psychokinetic powers in response to amassing positive emotions from their environment. In fact, one can even say that happiness is their _sustenance._"

"Not from their trainer?"

Delia laughed mirthlessly. "Come now, professor. Surely you jest? Humans, in general, live way too complicated lives to actually experience pure happiness, and even if we do, it is certainly not enough that a creature like Kirlia can feed upon it and grow. That said, they do have powerful bonds with their trainer, and are influenced by them in all sorts of ways."

Oak nodded, accepting her line of thinking.

"Also, you need to consider that trainer deaths," she paused at that word, her throat constricting for a moment as she remembered her own son's plight at the hands of a malevolent starter— "are commonplace in our world. If a kirlia's sustenance were to be limited to her trainer, chances are that she'd perish alongside him."

"But that doesn't happen."

"Exactly." Delia put in. "What makes Mia different is that she has substituted her source of sustenance from her surroundings to my son. She is still taking in nourishment from the environment, which is why she is still alive."

"Then her strangeness is—"

"I have been thinking about it, though my theory seems rather far-fetched, even to myself, if I'm being honest."

"Humour me then." Oak offered. "I'd still like to hear it."

"From what Kaz told me, Mia feels… substituted, by the mawile you gifted my son. Emotional creatures that they are, it is entirely possible that she, intentionally or not, had tried to latch on to someone else, to substitute Red, at least for the time being, for her sustenance. The only other human she is close to, besides my son, is me."

"Go on."

"But at the same time, Mia feels more strongly about everything, and that amplifies whenever Red is concerned, so it is possible that she mimicked Red's own feelings, and then sent them to me, only significantly amplified."

"You mean through—"

"Synchronize," Delia answered. "Seems like she is finally starting to show her ability, though with the way she is using it, and her strangeness, I'm unsure how the ability will manifest itself in her."

Oak stayed silent for a while, trying to comprehend the implications of whatever his assistant had just claimed. Even though it was merely an educated guess, the implications were… staggering. And then there was the—

"What about Eusine? What did he say? About Mia faking happiness?"

"He thought that Mia, in her attempts to substitute Red, which was synonymous to happiness for her, is now imbibing the opposite of it."

"You mean… sorrow?"

Delia took a deep breath. "I think she has changed the very source of what she feeds on. She is diverging from her entire species. _The Shift._"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	10. Act 1 - Immolation | Chapter 10 - How to Train Your Shellder

He should have seen it coming.

Mawile's irritation with Misty and her pokémon, or more particularly, her somewhat bossy nature, had been getting on her nerves. The orangette could be extremely stubborn at times, and it took something _overwhelming _to break through her walls before she could be made to accept something that differed from her own point of view.

Misty had not made her own dislike of Mawile any less subtle. For some reason, the wannabe water-specialist maintained a rather warped and, to be honest, slightly hypocritical world-view about pokémon.

On one hand, she made a clear distinction between pokémon and humans and knew that despite all the love and care that she imparted to her pokémon, they were creatures, not humans. They were lovable and she would never mistreat them, but they were not human_. _One might even say, that she thought of them as… pets, of a sort. It was not surprising, considering that even his mom considered Mia to be one, despite the fact that the little kirlia had practically grown alongside him.

On the other hand, this clean distinction didn't stop Misty from expecting pokémon to behave according to human standards. Eat normal, cooked food, and follow a civilized way of life like humans did. It wasn't exactly wrong per se, but it wasn't something that could be imposed on them either. Mawile, like most wild pokémon, was a hunter, and hunting prey was second nature to her, regardless of how civilized humans felt about it.

On second thought, perhaps working at the ranch for all this time had desensitized him to the more common conceptions that people tended to adhere to. Red wasn't always like this. In fact, his initial days at the ranch were probably some of the worst experiences in his life, having to deal with a bunch of rambunctious creatures going awry, simply because he had expected them to behave like he would.

"_Narrowmindedness is the prime cause of stubbornness," the old man used to say, "we do not readily credit that which is beyond our view."_

Red hadn't really understood it back then. He did now though.

"Are you sure you aren't overreacting?" Misty asked, her voice toned down to almost a whisper.

"I'm not overreacting," He retorted, stressing the last word. "While I understand that what she did was wrong, I also understand her motivation. And you'd do good to stop giving her those looks when you think I'm not looking."

"But she's—- I mean, she killed the bugs with— she enjoyed killing them."

"Since when do you even care about bugs? You literally scream whenever they come near you."

Misty scoffed at the blithe taunt. "I should inform you that I've had a phobia for bugs ever since I was a child. And even so, I just avoid them. I don't want to see them killed, and I certainly do not enjoy killing. Your mawile is—"

"A pokémon that grew up by herself." Red finished for her. "A pokémon, not a human. They hunt their prey, they maim and kill. It's what they do."

"It's certainly not what _trained_ pokémon do." Misty retorted. "My father is practically a water-master and has trained under the famous Master Gregory, the previous Cerulean City gym leader. I might not be a trainer myself, but I do meet trainers on a daily basis at my school, so allow me to tell you, it doesn't work that way. Trained pokémon, are exactly that. Trained. They follow our rules, they become a part of our civilized society. They don't stay… savages."

"And obviously your croconaw attacking me was a result of being civilized_." _Red drawled.

Misty pursed her lips, keeping back a half-scowl. "I admit that was my mistake, and even more so, for allowing my croconaw to behave like that. But his evolution is nearing, and the transition has made him… temperamental. Having to walk so much, instead of swimming has only made him worse."

"So its crankiness is just not for me."

"Croconaw is eternally cranky." Misty proclaimed. Her lips split into something that was almost but not quite a smile. "Regardless, I believe you should put down some… limits for your mawile. I understand that you have quite a bond with your starter, and that's a beautiful thing, but—"

"Keep her in line." Red finished for her with a sigh.

"...something like that."

The two kept walking for several minutes, but there was still no sign of the deceiver pokémon.

"I know…" He muttered.

"..Huh?"

Red looked up, a mirthless smile on his face. "I don't admit to being the epitome of what a trainer should be like. Truth be told, I'm kinda figuring things out myself. Life at the ranch might have given me a more… warped view of things. Not right or wrong, mind you— just different."

"I can understand that," Misty replied.

"I doubt it," Red chuckled. "Even the old man has some issues with my thoughts on training and being a trainer, but I guess I'm stubborn as they come."

"No surprise there." The orangette muttered. "Not that you're a bad trainer or anything. In fact, you're rather good from what I've seen. You'd give Drew a run for his money."

"Who's that?" Red asked, absently staring at the map in front of them. As far as he could see they were going straight, so why did this clearing look so much like the last one? A horrible thought that they had been moving in circles entered his mind for a moment before he quickly shook his head.

"Just a jerk at school. A natural at battling, mind you, but a complete jerk."

"So your school does teach people apart from wannabe water-type defenders."

Misty gently punched him on the arm. "That was mean."

"Just kidding." Red chuckled. "I never really asked about it, but where's this school of yours anyway?" He remembered her talking about the entire expedition being the result of some elaborate and complicated project for school, but the subject had never really come up.

"Saffron City. It's called Pokémon Tech Academy. It's like, one of the most prestigious institutions in the—" she paused, realizing that Red had stopped in his tracks. "What?"

Red gaped at her from his sedentary position. "Pokémon Tech? Like _the _Pokémon Tech? The ones where the fucking Elite Four are visiting lecturers?"

Misty giggled. "I didn't know you're a fan."

"I'm not," He snapped back, "I just read a little bit about it."

"Of course you did," Misty chortled, tilting her head. "But yeah, it's the same. Kinda unsure if it's as great as it's hyped up to be, but it's pretty good. We have Type-masters from all over the world, but the school only caters to the super-rich. Honestly, sometimes I wonder why my parents waste so much money on my formal education. Apprenticing under a water-master would have been just as good a start."

Red muttered something about 'casual' and 'teleportation' under his breath.

"Huh? You say something?"

"...No. Nothing at all." Red replied, consistently glancing around. "So, you get to learn from the Elite Four, huh?"

Misty shook her head, a wistful expression on her face. "Not all of them. Just Lady Lorelei, though she is very informal and hates that epithet. 'Ma'am' is the best that we have managed to make her accept. She actually prefers to be addressed directly by name. Sir Juan, however, is a completely different story. Address him without the 'sir', and you will have problems. But yeah, I have been there since I was twelve and it's been pretty awesome."

_Some people have all the luck. _Red mused. _Learning from Elite Four Lorelei, an Ice-master. No wonder she calls herself a water-specialist._

"So… how long have you been studying there?"

"Is that a roundabout way of asking me my age?" Misty teased. She had occasionally spotted Red checking her out from time to time. It had almost been amusing. Then again, if she were honest with herself, she had begun to slowly enjoy the other trainer's company. Red was quite easy on the eyes, and the fact that he knew his stuff, and yet lacked the common arrogance that usually came with such knowledge was a plus point too. Also, and she'd be damned before she accepted it, but she was starting to depend upon him.

"Uhm… no?" Red eased his collar, caught off-guard with that question. "Just a random question."

"If you say so." Misty rolled her eyes, before glancing around. "Do you think Mawile took a different path? It's kind of… difficult to see in the dark."

"It is possible, but we already—" Red began, before he paused, raising his hand horizontally to keep her behind him. There was an odd shadow approaching them from a distance. Even with the flashlight, all he could see was a large lavenderish lump, with several smaller lumps growing out of it. It seemed to have claws as well. There was also something yellowish towards what seemed to be the underbelly, which suddenly seemed to throw out a large, metallic flap outside, not unlike a tongue, as if sensing the environment around it for threats. It took odd, and despite all his experience at the ranch, Red couldn't remember seeing or studying something remotely familiar.

The lump crept closer.

"EEEEEH!" Misty shrieked, keeping her voice down to a low whisper. "What's that?"

"No idea," Red muttered, raising his pokédex with his right hand and reaching for Skarmory's pokéball with the left. Without preamble, he turned the device on and scanned the approaching creature.

**No match found. Given the location and the physique, the specimen seems to be some kind of bug. It is possible that this is a novel bug species unspecified in the Inter-regional database.**

"Well that was helpful," Red muttered, preparing to release Skarmory from her pokéball. First, the thief stole their meals, then Mawile ran away and now this. Was there no end to his troubles? Perhaps there was something wrong with him that made the whole universe go crazy.

"Oh my God, it's a bug. It's a large bug. Right? It's gonna tie me up, hang me upside down and crawl—"

"Misty," Red hissed, "kindly shut up."

Misty complied, scooting backward.

"What are you?" Red called out. "Show yourself. We don't want to hurt you."

The creature let out a soft rustling sound, as if something below its belly was trying to move out. After two anxious seconds, they found a tiny head poking out of the large, lump. The surprise doubled when they realized who it was they were staring at.

The familiar face of his favorite deceiver peeked out of the light purple mass and blinked at Red, before barking out in happiness. "Mawa… wile?"

* * *

"I really, really should have seen this coming," Red muttered in half-doleful tones as he slowly rubbed his face. Sparing another glance at the unconscious growlithe, he turned to her bleakly. "Where the hell did you manage to find a growlithe anyway? We're in the middle of a forest."

"Mawawawa!" Mawile replied seriously, before dropping herself to the ground to rest. Obviously dragging that thing from God knows where had exhausted her.

"Never mind." Red sighed. Sometimes he really wished he could understand her. With another sigh, he went back to rummaging through his backpack.

Mawile shrugged with a yawn, though he got the distinct impression that her reply was something along the lines of— 'It's your loss'.

On seeing his starter drag what looked like an unconscious growlithe on her jaw, he had decided to help her to drag it back to the tent without interrogating her. Knowing Mawile's occasionally finicky behavior, he had decided to leave it on the backburner for now.

_Still_, he mused, w_hat on earth did it do to piss her off?_

Carefully dragging the unfortunate fire-type towards the tent, he deposited it near the campfire. Given the strange lumps formed all over the growlithe's head and body, it probably needed some immediate healing.

_Poor thing._

Currently, said fire-type was spread-eagled upon the grassy floor outside. Having found what he needed, Red quickly walked out of the tent, carrying two injection syringes in his left hand, and a single tray with cotton and ointment. "Misty, can you make sure that it doesn't move about?"

Mawile happily raised her jaw, volunteering for the job.

"I didn't mean beat it senseless." Red snapped, making Mawile drop her jaw in disappointment. "This one needs treatment." He looked up at Misty, who seemed to stare at him with a calculating expression. "Can you keep it from moving?"

"…sure," Misty muttered, releasing Starmie. The starfish pokémon shook its entire body, its jewel reflecting the light of the campfire. "Starmie, I need you to disable it."

"Shtaar!" Starmie replied in acknowledgment, as the jewel on its center began to glow, and almost instantly, the growlithe's entire body was lit up, with a light bluish aura along the edges.

"That should do," Red muttered, pushing the syringe into the oblivious fire-type. There was the expected movement of its body muscles contracting as the syringe forced itself through the tissues, but the psychic-lock held.

"What was that?" Misty asked.

"Standard anesthesia," Red answered, putting the now-empty syringe away, and picking up the other one. Unlike the former colorless one, this one was tinged pink. With utmost care, he injected it into the still unconscious fire-type. He waited for a moment before he felt the growlithe's body sag down, a proof that the potion was taking effect.

"Is that?" Misty blinked, realizing what it was. Then she glanced at Red, and back at the syringe. "That wasn't a standard Full Restore, was it?"

Red shook his head. "I cannot claim to know what's wrong with it, save the obvious injury on the head, and the bruises on the entire body. I'm pretty surprised that this growlithe is even alive in the first case."

Mawile perked up at that. From what she knew, the growlithe had not only been alive, it had talked to her, and even made promises to protect her from imaginary enemies. Certainly, Red was overexaggerating? ...Right?

* * *

Full Restores were a mandatory item in a trainer's backpack. They were a mix of medicinal herbs, berries, chemicals and several other ingredients in tiny quantities, to be merged together in definite amounts to act as 'first-aid' to the injured pokémon. The potions were meticulously brewed and sold at Pokémarts to the aspiring Trainer population. The effects included detoxification against common poisons, an analgesic to keep the pain down and increase tissue rejuvenation. Pokémon, in general, had higher cellular regeneration than humans, and a standard Full Restore enhanced the process significantly.

"This is a modified version, used specifically for deeper wounds and injuries. I cannot add an analgesic at the moment so I applied the anesthetic earlier."

_Impressive. _Misty mused. "I didn't think that potion-brewing was one of your talents."

Red chuckled at the compliment. While potion-brewing wasn't exactly difficult, it wasn't terribly easy either. Besides, with Restore packs available as potion-vials at Pokémarts at somewhat reasonable prices, it was no wonder that most trainers purchased the standard sets whenever they visited the town. Potion-brewing might have been the norm some fifty years ago, but very few of today's trainers ever bothered to learn how.

"Where did you learn to do it? I don't think that potion-brewing is part of the Trainer License Exam?"

"It isn't, but the standard Full Restore isn't something that works on every pokémon at all times. That goes double when you are dealing with one of the biggest ranches in Kanto."

"And you cannot add the analgesic because…"

Red snorted, noticing a test when he saw one. "because painkillers tend to have horrible effects when used alongside regenerative potions."

Misty opened her mouth and then closed it again.

"I shouldn't have doubted you," She laughed sardonically. "I must remember to check out the local ranches before applying for medical school. Might save me a year or so."

Red chuckled at that. "I'm hardly an expert. The old man taught me that pain potions contain flux-weed, and they do not mix with regenerative ones. So, anesthesia is a better choice."

"Professor Oak taught you how to brew specific versions of the Full Restore," Misty muttered, re-evaluating what she knew about her newest acquaintance and sort-of-friend. Not for the first time, she wondered about the nature of the relationship between the young teen and the legendary former Champion of Kanto.

"Just the basics," Red replied offhandedly. "I tend not to purchase Full Restores from the Pokémarts. Acquiring the ingredients directly from the Pokémon Center is easier and… more affordable. During my stay at the Center, I was able to prepare enough for my trip through Viridian Forest. Though knowing my luck, it is surprising that this is the first time I'm needing to use one of those."

"Sure. How long do you think this will take?"

"Should be a couple of hours or something. I'm… not sure about the extent of its original injuries, and..." he dragged out, before deciding to ask Mawile what he had been ignoring until now.

"Mawile, are these lumps, because of you?"

Mawile nodded sagaciously. "Maw… wile!"

"Err.. right. Next time avoid hitting someone over and over on the head. It can give you a nasty headache when you wake up. Okay?"

Mawile nodded in acknowledgment. That much she could remember. Besides, it seemed like her plan was working. She might have gone a little overboard, but now Red was stuck with a growlithe, and as such, had something to occupy his mind. It also implied that Mawile would be devoid of his attention too, but she could handle that much. After all, she handled Shellder and Skarmory just fine. It wouldn't take too long to teach the puppy its place in the pecking order.

Red shook his head, whispering something along the lines of 'doomed'. He ignored Misty's smirk and glanced down at the fallen fire-type.

That reminded him. If he captured it inside a pokéball, then the growlithe would officially be his pokémon. Wait, _his? _He hadn't even battled it. It had been Mawile. Come to think of it, Shellder had just tagged along and Red had kept him out of sentimentality. Skarmory… shit, even Skarmory had been gifted to him because Mawile had won the fight against that vicious ursaring.

Red looked at the pokéball in his hand, half-amused and half-concerned. Some trainer he was, his starter had caught more pokémon than he did. Perhaps he should simply quit his dream of becoming a Champion and devote himself to a life of being Mawile's caretaker? She was certainly doing a better job than him, to be honest.

Red chuckled sardonically at the amusing thought.

_Mawile, the pokémon trainer. Traveling all around Kanto with her pet human, Red, defeating pokémon large and small, and ultimately becoming Champion._

"What the hell are you giggling about?" Misty asked, puzzled.

"Huh?" Red blubbered, caught off-guard. "Just an amusing thought." He lifted the empty pokéball, and pointing it towards the still unconscious growlithe, and clicked the button. A thin beam of red light shot out, sucking the creature into the device. The lid shut, but instead of the usual 'ding', the lid opened again, releasing the growlithe back on the ground.

_That was strange. _Red mused. _Must be an error._

He clicked the button to repeat the previous step. Once again, the lid opened back, releasing it outside. It was probably for the best that the growlithe was unconscious, or else it might have pitched a fit by now.

"Is something wrong?" Misty asked, confused.

"I don't know. I keep trying to capture him with the pokéball but it keeps ejecting rejecting it. I'd understand if this growlithe was awake and powerful enough to resist capture but that's not it. And I'm pretty that the ball isn't malfunctioning either. The only other explanation is that it's already caught. But it's a wild pokémon. So it doesn't make sense unless it was kidnapped or—"

His words died in his throat, as he turned towards his starter with a sickly expression, "Mawile… _what did you do?"_

Mawile gulped. For the first time since her triumphant return, she began to feel that not everything was going her way.

* * *

Mawile did not like the way things were shaping about. For one, Red seemed to be unusually concerned, frightened even—at the fact that the growlithe might have belonged to someone else. She was confused. Did humans really not understand the concept of belongings_? _He had reacted oddly over the poképuffs too, so she supposed she shouldn't be too surprised. Really, if she found some prey, she'd keep it for herself— either consuming it then and there, or storing it away in a safe den for later. What did it matter if someone else saw it earlier? If they couldn't make the first strike, they didn't deserve it.

" What am I going to do?" Red asked, facepalming as he sat on his knees. "If this growlithe has a trainer, then he must be searching for it as well. It'd be like I _stole _the pokémon. That's not an easy offense to deal with."

"I _did_ tell you about controlling your mawile's insolent—"

"Misty, can we please not do this right now?" He requested, his face a caricature filled with despondency. Turning to Mawile, he asked, "Mawile, I'm going to need you to answer this honestly, all right?"

Mawile nodded.

"Was this growlithe alone when you found it?"

Nod.

"Did you just… attack it out of nowhere?"

Mawile almost felt insulted. Really now, what did Red think of her? She wasn't some mindless beast that would attack others without reason. Sure, she did that for prey. But the growlithe wasn't prey. The growlithe was a prospective _recruit_, and it'd be counterproductive to kill a potential recruit before... recruiting it.

"Mawile?" Red asked, his voice strained.

Shake.

Red sighed. Well, the worst didn't happen. "Did the growlithe attack you first then?" He hoped she'd say yes, since then he could spin the entire thing as self-defense.

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen. Mawile shook her head.

"So, you didn't attack it, and it didn't attack you first. And its trainer was absent. Good so far?"

Nod.

"Well someone must have attacked first," Misty suggested, giving an evil glare at the deceiver pokémon. To her, it was pretty easy to understand what had transpired. Mawile had probably deceived the poor thing and attacked it out of pure viciousness.

"Not now, Misty." Red waved her off, his mind running into overdrive. "But later on, you attacked it, right?"

Mawile nodded. She wondered if Red would just get to the point. Playing twenty-thousand questions wasn't how she had expected it to go.

"Did you… talk to the growlithe before attacking it?"

Ah, _now _it was turning out to be interesting. Mawile nodded eagerly, adding an animated 'Mawawawa!' at the end of it.

"Okay, that's better." Red stood up, rubbing his chin. "Did it tell you if it was captured by someone else?"

Mawile thought about it. Growlithe seemed to be completely ignorant about the concept of a human trainer, so it was going to be a '_no', _but come to think of it, it did mention running away for 'freedom' and all of that philosophical bullshit. It didn't think of itself as a stray either, but explaining all of that to Red was a difficult and Mawile was tired of playing this one-way guessing game.

She shook her head. What did it matter if she twisted the truth a bit? Growlithe did say that he didn't have a trainer.

"That's… strange." Red cupped his chin with his left hand. "If it isn't a captured pokémon and—wait, are you certain that it isn't a captured pokémon?"

Another nod.

"That certainly does not help." Misty frowned "If it doesn't have a trainer, then the pokéball would have accepted the capture."

"It would, but look at its wounds. Some idiot must have tried to capture it, but then the growlithe proved too strong and broke out. Probably when the trainer wasn't looking."

"That seems rather far-fetched to me."

"Do you have a better idea?" Red challenged.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Misty retorted darkly, "look at its neck."

"What do you mean look at its— ", he paused midway, as he understood what he was seeing. "Is that a—a—?"

"A shock collar, yes," Misty replied, scowling in disgust. "Whoever put that on must be a real sonofabitch."

Red could agree with that.

The brown collar around its neck, seemed to be made of leather, with a pure metal collar cloaked inside it. Shock collars were a thing of the past, much before the invention of pokéball-technology. Back then, the more dangerous breeds of pokémon were kept under control using shock-collars, and trained to fight in an arena with other brutes. It was not something the present generation would ever consider using.

"Do you know how to break it?"

Misty shook her head. Shock-collars were notoriously difficult to break, or any idiot could have broken through one and sent an incredibly dangerous creature free. She didn't exactly know what the material was, but it was known to be extremely resistant to corrosion and were elastic enough to absorb most physical attacks without cracking.

"But why use a shock-collar on this one? I mean, it's a growlithe, for God's sake." Red muttered, wondering why someone would go to such extents on a _growlithe._ "Either way, what do we do then?"

"We should take it to the Pokémon Center in Pewter. They'd probably be able to deal with it. For the time being, it'll have to stay on its neck." She glanced at the poor fire-type with pity in her eyes.

Red glanced at Misty before his focus shifted to Mawile, who seemed more baleful than he would have liked. Going from the frown on her face, it was possible that Mawile was evaluating the entire concept of a _trained pokémon, _based on Misty's words. For someone that valued her personal freedom over anything else, listening to such barbaric history was sure to incite a reaction.

"I think…" He cleared his throat, attracting everyone's attention. "It's getting quite late, and we should all get some sleep. Perhaps by tomorrow, it will be awake and we can find a solution to its problems."

"Wile!" Mawile muttered softly and pushed herself up. She walked up to Red who knelt down to hold her. Ignoring everything else, Mawile dug herself into his shirt and shut her eyes.

"Red?" Misty asked, watching them with abrupt fascination.

"You go get some sleep. I'll be…" He caressed Mawile's head, "I'll be there in a while."

* * *

When Growlithe woke up, the first thing he felt was anger. This was surprising because he had long learned the futility of getting angry. Anger led to pain. It was better to keep your head down and do what was told.

in fact, apart from the ever-consistent and ever-increasing sensation of pain, he could hardly remember any substantial emotion he had displayed.

Well, other than a sense of helplessness.

He had calmly watched his fellow kin try their level best to acquire freedom, only to end in utter disappointment or death. Come to think of it, it was almost laughable that despite his cold cynicism, it was he who had ended up being free from the white-walled prison.

And now, after finally tasting the feeling of freedom, he found it lacking. Life back in the prison was filled with pain and suffering, but he had a reason to survive back there. Every day was a battle, a battle to overcome and survive. To see the next day, even if in hope of a pipe dream like freedom. Though he wasn't quite sure what to do now that he was free. He felt like a rudderless ship, sailing in the sea, without aim or direction.

Come to think of it, was he still free? From what he could remember he had just been captured by the tiny yellow pokémon he had tried to befriend in the forest. The experience with the mawile_, _while novel, had left him with a sour taste in his mouth. He had almost _empathized _with the mawile, and had even developed feelings for her—.on a more personal level —only for them to be squashed like a bug by her cunning and cruelty. All of those slams on his head had been agonizing. Why, he could even feel the mind-boggling pain tear through his—

Wait. Mind-boggling pain? Without opening his eyes, Growlithe carefully assessed himself. There was practically _no sense _of pain in his body. Even the consistent ache in his hindlimbs had vanished. The pain on his head from those slams was gone as well, and he felt an incredible lightness in his body.

He almost felt… younger.

_Why does it feel so good? Am I… am I dreaming?_

Growlithe slowly cracked open his eyes— enough to see the outside, but not enough for anyone to realize that he has regained consciousness. It would not do to fall into that deceptive creature's trap a second time, and Growlithe wasn't going to allow anyone, especially the mawile, to one-up him again.

Which took him back to his original thought process.

Yes, Anger. Anger at being deceived. Anger at being tricked when all he had wanted to do was to offer his help. Anger at—

For the second time after waking up, Growlithe's thoughts screeched to a halt. A few steps away from him, lay the deceptive mawile creature. Only she wasn't on the grassy floor. Instead, she was leaning against a human—_a human—_ 's body without a care in the world. Said human had a cap covering most of his face and was leaning against a tree trunk, asleep. The juxtaposition seemed utterly confusing.

He could have accepted the mawile sleeping a little away from her human, maintaining a safe distance. He might have even understood her intentions to please the human by getting him another slave so that she might have less work to do. After all, two slaves were better than one. That was common sense. But this?

Mawile had a tiny smile on her face. For one moment, he felt oddly… jealous. Strange, he didn't know he was capable of experiencing such an emotion.

He shook his head. Something was wrong with him. Why was he feeling jealous of someone who was imprisoned by a human? Surely there was some sort of sinister bondage at play. Either way, he was awake and it was time to leave. He'd need to be silent though. Just push himself up, and slowly get out of their sight. The sun was up in the sky, and soon enough, he could find his way through the forest and—

Pause.

Wait, there was something wrong in that sentence. The sun was up which caused brightness. which meant the men-in-black would be up. And the lack of darkness usually meant that those men-in-black would probably be looking for him. Besides, he had no idea just how large the forest was, or how to traverse it faster than the men-in-black.

What to do? What to do? What to—?

"_But my trainer does not experiment on me, and he takes good care of me too. Perhaps you can meet him. He will probably help you."_

Mawile had revealed that to him earlier. And judging by the fact that he wasn't in a cage, it was obvious that the human wasn't too interested in capturing him. That, or he was dumb when compared to the rest of his species. Mawile had called him dopey, after all.

But it also seemed like the human had something to do with the absence of the pain he was accustomed to. Why would he do that? According to his experience, humans weren't ever good to him.

_This is so… confusing._

He pushed himself up on his four legs, feeling the surprising lack of the dull ache that he had grown accustomed to. The pain on the head was now almost fading away, leaving nothing more than a distant memory. The bruises on his body from the fight the previous day seemed to have healed as well. Could it be that— that the mawile was right, and this human was actually somewhat altruistic_? _Yes, that was an apt description. He wasn't stupid enough to think of a human as kind though. That would be a little overboard.

He stretched himself out, feeling his muscles contract and relax.

He felt good. He felt really good. In fact, it felt so good that he subconsciously let out a happy woof.

…

…

"Eh!" Red yawned, stretching his hands upward, "I see you've woken up!"

…  
...

On second thought, that might have been a mistake.

* * *

If there was one pokémon in Kanto that _everyone _knew about, it would probably be a growlithe. It was almost hilarious, that despite being a fire-type, and a rather versatile one at that, spotting a growlithe was practically a run-of-the-mill event. In fact, even Pallet Town, one of the smallest towns in Kanto, had several dozens of those puppies, running around in small groups. Even more surprisingly, the people that tamed them were mostly shopkeepers, gardeners, businessmen—essentially non-trainers— to act as watchdogs. Mia hated them with a passion, mostly because of their annoying tendency to dig up large holes in the ground and then urinate in them.

All in all, Red had never really considered catching a growlithe. At least until a few hours ago after he utilized a Full Restore potion to heal one of them.

"You're finally awake!" Red yawned, making sure not to drop Mawile as he gently stretched out. Mawile muttered something in her sleep at his movements, before burrowing deeper into his shirt.

The growlithe let out a soft growl.

_It seems to be_ _somewhat afraid. And possibly confused._

"Look, I'm not exactly sure what happened," he said softly, "but I know Mawile hurt you." He noticed the puppy glare at the sleeping Mawile. "Yeah, well, she's a feisty one and tends to go a little overboard from time to time and," And now the confusion in puppy's face deepened —

"I'm making a mess of things, aren't I? Well, this is the first time I've had to do this," he sighed. "Tell you what? I'll be making breakfast now. How about you join us? You aren't feeling any more pain, are you?"

The growlithe slowly shook his head.

"Good," Red continued, oblivious to the growing confusion in the former captive, "I suppose you ran off from someone who," he pointed at the collar around the neck, "put that collar on you, right?"

* * *

"_I suppose you ran off from someone who put that collar on you, right?"_

Growlithe froze for a moment. The collar had been on his person for as long as he remembered being alive. He had never even considered its presence to date. Come to think of it, it was probably what caused those sudden shocks. And clearly, it wasn't something that a free pokémon would have.

Hesitantly, he nodded.

Red looked angry, and for a moment, Growlithe steadied himself to face an attack. Instead, the human spoke again, "that was an extremely bad thing to do. I have no idea how to remove that thing, but if you come with me to the Pokémon Center, maybe I could get it off for you."

_What, just like that?_

"Come to think about it, you do look a little different. I'm sure the mane was supposed to have a cream-ish color, and not bright white. Same for purple tinge. You're most likely a shiny? That's probably why that asshole decided to capture you."

Growlithe frowned. He was reliably certain that whatever the reason he had been bred in captivity for—the color of his mane was definitely not one of them. Perhaps this trainer was indeed... dopey, was it? Even so, he did feel a little glad that this human was different from the ones he had been exposed to back at the prison.

"Either way," Red continued, "don't try to run around. You need to get some rest, and we aren't going anywhere soon. Don't worry, worst comes to worst and that asshole returns, we'll protect you."

…

Growlithe stared at the human with a vacant expression on his face.

_Protect him?_

Considering everything, he had expected this human—Red, was it? —to be slightly better than those men-in-white, but protect him? He, who could cause this human to die a horrible death by burning him alive. He, who could melt the entire place with his corrosive acid, who could, if all else failed, use his smog to poison the surroundings and flee— this human thought that he could protect him?

It was new. It was different and weird, and completely unlike anything he had experienced. And yet, it was strangely comforting.

Growlithe considered the maelstrom of conflicting thoughts he was going through, and decided that he didn't like it. Perhaps the entire concept of freedom was overhyped. Or perhaps it was simply his cursed luck. After another moment of self-introspection, he decided that it was probably the latter.

Growlithe let out another woof, after what he assumed was an appropriate time to indicate bashful sincerity. He could deal with the Mawile later, and it was true that staying with this human was a good start to getting out of the forest. It was certainly better than being on the run.

_I hope I haven't made a mistake._

For a second growlithe thought back to the white-walled maze before he shook his head clear of such depressing thoughts. He had made his choice, and now he would have to see it to the end. Regardless, this human couldn't be worse than the men-in-black.

Growlithe looked at the Mawile still cuddling into his shirt. Truly, she was vicious, especially for something so small and cute looking. And this was her adjuster, or her trainer, as she called it. She couldn't possibly have become so vicious on her own, could she?

Growlithe narrowed his eyes at the human trainer.

For now, he would reserve judgment.

* * *

"Somehow I should have known that you would pick up a stray," Misty commented as she walked out of the tent, freshened up and ready for breakfast. "You seem exactly like the kind of person who'd do that."

Red rolled his eyes as he sat upon a log of wood, cooking what was quite possibly the last piece of meat he had preserved for the trip. After this, they'd need to go vegetarian for a while. That, or survive on canned food. Come to think of it, it had been like three days and there had been absolutely zero signs of a venonat. Perhaps they should have chosen some other place instead?

"So…" Misty asked, casually observing the growlithe lying on the grass, who was watching Red with utmost attention. "Any plans for the day?"

"Nothing spectacular. Skarmory's gone for her usual flight, and Mawile's being grumpy since her poképuffs are stolen. I was thinking of working with Shellder. Mawile can train with Skarmory over her Flash technique."

"Ah, your super-secret technique then. I'm dying to see if it's just as magnificent as you claimed. Perhaps you should show me so that I can bask in the magnificence of your shellder's genius."

Red arched an eyebrow.

"Okay, that was probably a little too much, but I'm somewhat interested. It's a water-type after all." Misty grinned at him.

"And you, of course, are the messiah of all water-types. What would they do without you?" He quipped back.

"Prat."

Red chuckled and returned to his cooking. "Yeah, yeah. Either way, our newest companion will probably be hanging around until Pewter City. We're stuck here till we catch a venonat, so you've got ample time to witness Shellder's awesomeness. So, don't get your knickers in a twist over—"

"Are you implying something?" The voice that interrupted him was definitely Misty's, only unnaturally cold.

"Huh? Implying wha—?" He answered, before it hit him.

_Oh._

It must be noted that Misty had a habit of wearing ridiculously short skirts— barely enough to reach her thighs. Red had often run into uncomfortable situations because of this. Especially because of that one time when they were being chased by beedrill and he had commented about how the wind was 'pushing her ridiculously short skirt too far up'.

The resulting explosion had almost been funny. Almost.

Red shook himself off his reverie. "Nope. Nothing at all."

"Good." Misty chagrined.

Crisis averted, Red returned to his cooking. From what he understood, the girl was rather attached to her sense of fashion, even if she did admit that her skirt was on the short side. Of course, that didn't stop her from blowing up like a volcano whenever someone noticed, or worse, pointed it out at her face.

"How's your croconaw doing?"

"He's… okay. It seems like the high-pitched noise had an adverse effect on him. He is close to evolution, so his body is changing faster than he can get used to it. The skin near his ears is softer now since the hide would get replaced with external scales as a feraligatr. But until then, it is a weak spot."

"Feraligatr, huh?" Red mused. Feraligatr were infamous for their monstrous strength, and were quite frankly, the strongest water-types in the Johto region. Though their monstrous strength usually impacted their speed, and they ended up becoming long-ranged attackers that relied heavily upon their body's powerful defense.

"Yeah, and once he evolves and gets used to his strength, I'll show Lily what I've got," Misty replied wistfully. "Last time, her crawdaunt soundly defeated my croconaw. This time, we'll turn the tables."

"Crawdaunt?"Red asked, before pulling out his pokédex. "Let's see..."

Misty chuckled. "You won't get any information on that. Crawdaunt is a—"

**Crawdaunt, the Rogue pokémon. Crawdaunt has an extremely violent nature that compels it to challenge other living things to battle. Other life-forms refuse to live in ponds inhabited by this Pokémon, making them desolate places.**

"—a Hoenn pokémon and not registered on the Kanto pokédex." She finished wryly. "But I suppose that's not a Kanto dex, is it?"

"Nope." Red answered, emphasizing the 'p'. "This one's an upgrade. A National Dex, I think it's called. It has access to the Inter-regional Database. The old man gave it to me when I started my journey."

"Of course, he did, what was I thinking?" Misty muttered sourly. "Some people really have all the luck."

"Yeah, yeah, keep complaining about luck when you literally burn money, teleporting everywhere."

"Stop being sore about that, okay?" Misty complained good-naturedly. "Besides, it's not like I cheated on you or anything. You agreed to my offer."

"Keep reminding me, why don't you," Red grumbled, glancing at the pokédex entry. "Damn, this looks rather menacing."

"They are," Misty agreed, "Crawdaunt are called the rogues of the sea. Not very good on land, but they can be quite devastating when in water. More so, if you can teach it to master Aqua Jet."

"Aqua Jet? What is that?"

Misty blinked before she realized. "Ah right. I guess with you knowing stuff all over the place, I thought you knew about it as well. Aqua Jet's a move created by Master Gregory during his years as the Cerulean Gym Leader. It's something that everyone apprenticing at the Cerulean gym is taught early on."

"A move tutor then?" Red asked. From what he knew, move-tutors were damn-costly.

"In a way, but considering the number of people out there who know Aqua Jet and are trying to modify that technique further, it has somewhat lost its status as a move-tutor and is simply a move, or move-ish, I guess." Misty paused, before remembering their actual discussion, "in fact, it is something that would fit your shellder perfectly."

Red blinked. "Come again?"

"Yeah, Shellder has the right requirements for it. It has a strong shell, and is capable of generating high amounts of pressure from what you told me, and has yet to learn how to manipulate said pressure at will. Come to think of it, Aqua Jet is exactly what it needs."

Red blinked again. "So, you're actually serious."

Misty gave him a vacant look. "Why wouldn't I be serious?"

"Because I distinctly remember hearing someone commenting at how Shellder was the epitome of uselessness."

Misty cringed at that. "I know… but, come on. Nobody uses a shellder and that's because it's nearly impossible to teach it anything. However, your Shellder is anything but that. I'm still wondering if it had a psychic-type for a parent. That would certainly explain its affinity for Double Team and… it's slightly above-average intelligence."

Red opened his mouth, then closed it. Slowly gathering his thoughts, he spoke up, "What is Aqua Jet anyway?"

Misty grinned. "Body-based pressure manipulation. The pokémon in question gathers a revolving layer of water all around it, and propels itself forward by jetting the water behind it at high pressure."

"Okay." Red murmured, wondering where this was leading to.

"So basically, if we are able to teach Shellder how to freely manipulate pressure, it will come closer to controlling its internal pressure. And wasn't that what you were alluding to, back when you told me about Water Bullet?"

"Yes, but controlling internal pressure like that, and setting up a rotating wall of water around itself— all of that sounds like a rather high-tier move to me," Red answered skeptically. "Shellder is barely able to manipulate the basic pressure required for a Water-gun, and this is well—"

"I know," Misty answered, still upbeat, "Aqua Jet is a composite move, and I never meant to teach Shellder the complete version. Hell, I'm unsure if Shellder can even produce enough water for a standard Aqua Jet. But it is still pressure-manipulation, and from what you told me, the technique you are devising requires a lot of control over that."

"Well yes, but in the opposite direction of what Aqua Jet is about." Red refuted back.

"Semantics," Misty waved it off. "If I can teach a shellder to eject highly pressurized water backward, I can do it for the front as well. Croconaw can easily demonstrate some part of it, and Shellder can learn from it."

"Uhm, I'm pretty sure that it won't work out the way you think it is."

"Excuse me, who's the budding Water Specialist here?" Misty challenged. "I'm sure I can teach your shellder how to manipulate pressure." She paused, her tone challenging. "Just watch and learn."

Red crossed his arms with a smirk. "I'm watching."

Not one to shrink from a challenge, Misty calmly released her croconaw, uncaring of the fact that even the stray growlithe was observing her every move. She allowed a passing glance towards the deceitful ivory-ish creature who was watching her wolfishly before turning to her starter.

* * *

"Come on Croconaw, we have a point to prove."

The obviously-unhappy water-type sneered, before looking up at his trainer. What nonsense had she dragged him into now? First all that walk in the city, and then through the forest. The discomforting shriek had certainly not helped matters, and if Misty's words were to be believed, then the mawile had apparently tried to murder him in his sleep. Life in Viridian Forest had become terribly dangerous recently.

"Oh, don't be a spoilsport." Misty chided.

Croconaw sighed, deciding that it was best to be done with whatever annoyance his trainer had in mind. The exhaustion from the previous day's events was still clouding his mind, and a little rest inside his pokéball would be preferable. He turned towards his trainer and nodded. "Croc?"

"Now that's a good boy." Misty beamed. "We only need to teach this little shellder how to manipulate pressure."

_Oh, just that?_ He thought sarcastically. _Why don't I teach him Hydro Pump while I'm at it?_

"Croconaw?" Misty asked. "Any issues?"

The big-jaw pokémon could only sigh in resignation and trudged all over to the shellder lying inconspicuously on one end. Come to think of it, it was the bane of his existence. Ever since the little tyke had fallen on his head, he had been going through one misfortune after another. From what he had inferred from Misty's conversation with the other human, shellder was practically useless.

_And now I have to teach him to be useful. Is there no end to my sorrows?_

Deciding that there was no point in cursing his luck when he had a job to take care of, he glared at the shellder and barked, "Get over here."

Instead of squeaking in fear and following his orders as it rightfully should have, Shellder remained in its place, imitating a rock.

Misty sweatdropped. "Uhm, Shellder. Croconaw is trying to teach you something."

Shellder squeaked in answer, at which Misty turned to Red and gave him a triumphant smirk. Said trainer in question, didn't bother to reply, preferring to calmly watch. Not too far away, a certain deceiver pokémon was smiling gleefully, happy to see the cause of her woes be subject to Shellder's _charms._

"Right," Misty cleared his voice and spoke up in her best teacher voice, "so Croconaw is going to teach you how to manipulate your body pressure. This will help you to use Water Gun, so it is essential that you listen carefully. Is that okay?"

Shellder squeaked again.

Misty looked positively enthralled. Personally, Croconaw felt she was a step away from enveloping the little thing with one of her overwhelming bear hugs. The affection was undeniable, and so was the feeling of suffocation that accompanied them.

"All right, Croconaw, show him." Misty egged her starter forward.

_What's with you and pushing, woman? _The water-type grumbled mentally, taking a step forward. Lifting Shellder with the air of a snorlax lifting a rattata, before putting it down right beside him on the ground. Then, he glared at the little shell pokémon and barked, "Watch carefully."

Shellder blinked but did not retort.

Croconaw gave the impudent thing an impassive stare. While shellder were perfectly capable of inner thoughts, their vocal glands were poorly developed, which was why the only sound they managed were shills and squeaks. By the time they evolved to cloyster though, they were perfectly capable of communication. From what he understood, this particular shellder had a high affinity to the psychic-type. So being able to mimic human speech through telepathy as a Cloyster should be within reason.

Shellder squeaked for a third time.

"Don't push me, twerp!" Croconaw warned as he closed his mouth, feeling his energy gather into his maw. He slowly compressed it as it began to take on the properties of the water element. Then, he slowly nodded towards Shellder before directing his jaws towards the forest and releasing a torrent of water.

"Now try to do the same."

Shellder squeaked, but contrary to his expectations, it closed its valves and shut itself in.

…

Confused, Croconaw knelt down and tried to peep into the eternal darkness that was Shellder's shell, wondering where the little brat was hiding. "Croco—"

_ **SQUEAK!** _

Shellder almost roared out, as its eyes glowed in the darkness, before leaping at Croconaw's face, and clamping onto one of his ears. Croconaw grunted in irritation, doing his best to pull Shellder off, something that only seemed to make his ear burn more.

After what seemed like an eternal struggle, Shellder finally released its hold on Croconaw's ear, allowing the larger water-type to pull it off. Enraged at its shenanigans, he held the shell pokémon in front of his face and growled at it.

_ **SLURRRRRP!** _

A long, crimson, _slimy_ tongue shot out of the darkness and swept all across his face.

It felt absolutely disgusting.

For a long moment, Croconaw stood still, almost unbelieving of what had just happened. Then he threw Shellder off as he ran back into the tent, all the while screaming loudly.

"_**CROCAAAA!"**_

* * *

This was it.

Mawile slowly got up from her position and moved towards Shellder.

This was the answer.

Shellder, who had been the bane of her existence, who had competed for Red's affection for days, and who had stolen Red's attention on several occasions.

This would be her salvation.

This shellder would be the one to take her vengeance over this orange human. Yes, she could see it now. Shellder was her _savior. _With short but no less bold steps, she trotted along, crossing the distance between herself and her one-time nemesis, and slowly patted its shell with her tiny hands, muttering words she could have sworn she'd never use for the shell-pokémon. Even her eyes were moist and when she spoke and her words seemed to carry over her heart's true emotions.

"I'm proud of you."

* * *

**Later that afternoon**

"All right, lunch is ready. Come out, everyone." Red declared, placing a semi-large saucepan on the folding table and spreading two plates out beside it. "Hot steak ready to be served." He stretched his hands outwards, before stepping back. "Let's finish this quickly."

"Steak for the third time," Misty sniffed, "At this point, I'm not sure if you're that confident, or if you're actually _looking forward_ to being robbed."

"I did tell you I have a plan, didn't I?"

"You did" Misty grinned. " And I'll be standing right here waiting to mock you when your overcomplicated plan comes crashing down like a house of cards."

"..."

Meanwhile, someone was observing this conversation closely. Having been in his presence for a considerable time period, his exuberance felt almost unnatural. Red was many things, but a natural liar he was not. Mawile was going to have to teach Red a thing or two about subtlety.

Red, was laying a trap, for the thief, and this was practically an open invitation. Mawile had seen him staring at those utensils over the last day, muttering something to himself. He had also given the impression that he had a plan in mind. Though, she had her own suspicions about the entire thing.

The strange high-pitched noise was detrimental to the senses, and even Mawile had wanted to rip off her own ears. She had encountered several pokémon in the past, but something with such a nature still evaded her. Back in Kalos, there were colonies of noibat— furry little things, but extremely irritable. They had large protrusions coming out of their heads that acted as sound amplifiers and could kill someone with their screams.

Mawile shuddered. She had been unfortunate to encounter a group of Noibat back on Pomace, and she'd never want to deal with those furry monsters. Thank you very much. _But, _the thief in question could not be a noibat. The buzzing, if she could call it that, was high-pitched, and wasn't accompanied by the loud cries. It seemed like her opponent was someone she had no knowledge about. From what she figured, neither did Red or the useless orange acquaintance of his.

Mawile glanced at the fire-type lazing on the ground. Seriously, if not for her prior experience with growlithe and their hyperactive personality, she'd have accused the entire species of being a bunch of lazy good-for-nothing layabouts.

Until earlier this morning.

If there was anything Mawile fully trusted about herself, it was her ability to charm her way through almost any situation, and judging others was a crucial element in that technique. Anyone else would have probably dismissed the growlithe as a lazy brat and ignored him, but not Mawile. Ever since he had come to his senses, the growlithe had never once attempted to leave or bothered to display any form of reaction towards its present situation. In fact, the growlithe hadn't even attacked Mawile out of anger for her previous actions, as she had expected.

Instead, he just sat there, _observing._

The oddity of a fire-type observed Misty's mannerisms and her interaction with Red observed the other pokémon and their interactions as well. It observed how Mawile herself interacted with Red, but most importantly, his eyes never left Red, almost as if studying Red's every movement, trying to decipher something from them. Of course, Mawile was still a little confused at his answers the previous night, especially with the growlithe's lack of knowledge about the world.

_I wonder if I bit in more than I can chew. Speaking of which, that growlithe is trying very hard, pretending he doesn't want to speak to me. Let's see what is it that he doesn't need me for._

Mawile rolled her eyes in amusement. Ever since morning, the puppy was observing Red's every movement, all the while trying to stay aloof. Speaking of which...

"Ah, finally." Misty walked out of the tent, with her Croconaw in tow. The bulky water-type moved slowly, unlike his hyperactive human companion, but there was nothing unnatural in that. Mawile wondered if Red had shared information about whatever he had planned to Misty because in case he did, it was bound to be a failure. One look at the orangette was enough to guarantee that.

Speaking of her trainer, she wondered why Red was being so… callous about the growlithe. Were growlithe so _useless? _Her trainer had been super-excited about Skarmory, but he seemed to be taking his sweet time with the growlithe. Perhaps they didn't evolve into something good enough? Or perhaps… he was simply feeling guilty over Mawile attacking it?

She scoffed. Human sensitivities were too complicated for her to comprehend. She liked things simple. And what she was interested in, was catching the thief. The smell of cooked steak was all over the place, so the thief must have noticed it. Now if only it would just happen quickly, then they could get to their meal in patience and—

A high-pitched buzz permeated the entire forest, just like the previous day.

Mawile gritted her teeth as she felt herself lose coordination, falling down to the ground in extreme discomfort. The growlithe mewled in irritation, burrowing his head beneath his paws.

There was a sudden movement of wind, followed with a tiny noise of something tearing, before the entire saucepan—the one that apparently had the steak—blew up in a cloud of translucent, white smoke, as the perpetrator of the wind movement lost its coordination and slammed into the nearest tree trunk. Almost instantly, Red threw what looked like a tiny canister towards the thief, who instantly _slashed _the incoming object.

That would go on to prove to be a mistake.

For the thief.

The canister exploded with the force of a small bomb, enveloping the thief in another cloud of the translucent gas. The thief began to cough and screech relentlessly as it tried to fight off the effects of the smoke—probably a bug-repel from what Mawile realized. That came with a second realization that the horrible buzzing had finally stopped. Without further preamble, Mawile ran off, raising her jaw, and leaped towards the thief, wanting to bite its head off. Obviously, she'd never get her stolen poképuffs back, but eating the one who ate them would probably grant her spiritual satisfaction.

Her jaw did not bite into flesh, as expected. Instead, it was met by razor-sharp steel. Her instincts screamed, and she jumped back from the livid creature, who was not only _still _somehow conscious but also lucid enough to screech out ferociously and shove its large fan-like claws outward.

_Right! _Mawile cursed mentally. _We knew that this thing might be fast, but it seems Red did not prepare for that possibility. And of course, it's something big and scary. Like there was absolutely no way that it would be a tiny squashable bug._

"_**SCYTHRRRR!"**_

The fearsome snarl that accompanied the fast attack almost felt like an Astonish, or perhaps it was the creature's sheer intimidation. The pokémon shot up from its position, fangs bared, it's scythes ready to pierce into Mawile's skin and tear her to pieces.

Mawile almost closed her eyes.

Something large and powerful appeared in front of her, and Mawile opened her eyes to find Skarmory, her wings raised out like swords, ready to attack at a moment's notice. More importantly, she noticed the lack of attack on her own person. She peeped past Skarmory's larger bulk and found the thief— a scyther —fallen down on the ground, convulsing under the effects of the explosion.

"Ha!" Red exclaimed, "it worked!" He literally sprinted from his position and found himself standing on the other side of the now incapacitated bug pokémon. The scyther's face was twisted in pain, and it kept sneezing and screeching as the effects of the bug-spray sent its senses into a complete frenzy.

"A scyther?" Misty recognized in wonder. "It was a scyther?"

"Yeah, I had a hunch it might be one," Red explained, happy to bask in his little achievement. "The utensils I used the other day were slashed open, so I assumed it must be a bug capable of slashing things aside. Insane speed, and slashes, inside a bug-rich environment. It was very probable that it was a scyther."

"But what was inside that saucepan?"

Red grinned impishly. "A little of steak, and a lot of gravy— enough to give off a smell, but not enough to waste our lunch. And nestled inside, a repel can. When the scyther slashed it open, it exploded."

"And the second one?"

"The same," Red kept on his impish grin. "Bugs tend to have really strong olfactory senses. Repels overload them, and keep them away. It slashed that canister open, and it exploded all over its face. It won't be moving for quite a while now." He turned towards the fallen bug. "It's time we get some answers from this thief."

So, what do we do now?" Misty asked.

"We wait."

* * *

** **Team Rocket Training Quarters, ** ** ** **Pewter City** **

It had been three weeks since Ritchie had found himself in a half-dead state, at the hands of his coach, or d_emon, _as he had started calling him inside his mind. He had allowed himself to wallow in self-pity for two days before he forced himself to get himself up and start on a training regimen. After all, the message had been crystal clear—prove yourself to be a _capable _grunt within the month, or fail and be thrown out into the world, without any memory of the past month.

The same world in which he had ignored the direct orders of the Kanto Police force, and was a fugitive. And that was without the fact that he owed fifty thousand to this Butch person— and knowing Ritchie's luck, the man was probably high up in the Team Rocket hierarchy as well.

Train yourself to become a capable grunt within a limited time period, or die pathetically—. Needless to say, Ritchie had embraced the former option and begun to train himself ragged.

And today…

Today was judgment day.

_My last chance…_

Failure was not an option. Not for himself, nor for his team.

The demon stepped forward. "One single battle, one on one, between Examiner Eleven and Recruit 38. No items, no substitutions. "

"And Eleven," he added, almost as an afterthought. "Try not to kill the recruit's pokémon. Leaves a bad stain on the floor."

Everyone laughed at that.

Ritchie didn't think it was funny. Or that he was joking for that matter.

"Recruit 38, your examiner is going to arrive soon. You do not have to win. All your pokémon has to do is to remain standing. For two minutes. If you succeed, you are a grunt. If not, well, I'm told that someone in Team Rocket has some words for you."

Ritchie paled. _How the hell did— what am I thinking? Of course, he'd know. Like— like seriously, this was a bad idea, a very bad—_

And his mental rant paused just like that, as he felt someone step up in front of him.

_What the—?_

His opponent was a pretty girl, roughly seventeen years of age, with her red hair curled back into a ponytail, a cute smile on her face and a pokéball in her hand. This was probably one of the most striking examples of beauty he had ever seen. But Ritchie was staring at her for an entirely different reason. He recognized her.

_Is that… Ariana?_

Over his stay at the trainee quarters, Ritchie had picked on some of the more interesting names thrown around the place by the more experienced combatants. It was almost like a mirror world, where you strived to become an Admin, instead of a Champion. And Ariana— she was a shining star in the night sky.

A named genius of the battle circuit, Ariana Ortega had three League Championship Wins under her belt and was notorious at outthinking her opponents. Ritchie had even checked some of her official League battles, and goddamn was that woman _scary. _It was almost like fighting a clairvoyant battler, like Sabrina of Saffron City.

_And this is the person I have to face? Why don't they just save themselves the trouble and just kill me now?_

"Alright," Ariana spoke up in a brisk, no-nonsense tone. "Time to finish up this nonsense so that I can get back to business. Why someone like you," she glanced at the coach, "would even deign to do this, I'll never understand."

The coach, Ritchie noticed, did not bother to acknowledge her statement.

"...Whatever." Ariana flipped her ponytail to the right casually before lobbying her pokéball forward and releasing the beast within.

And yes, it was a _beast._

At first glance, it appeared to be an enormous spheroid built of solid black rock, though covered with a layer of white. It was also floating above the ground, which lead Ritchie to believe it was psychic. The entire spheroidal thing twisted on itself, revealing its face, and it was a real face— with two sinister-looking blue eyes and a wicked grin peering out from behind the layer of white. To complete the image of horror, two protrusions on the top, giving the impression of horns. The entire thing was at least five feet in diameter, and giving him a malevolent stare.

"What is— what is that?"

Ariana scoffed.

"_That_," she paused, "_, _is a glalie. You've probably never heard of it. Well, it is an ice-type. Now do you think you can choose a suitable pokémon or do you require more information?"

Ritchie swallowed. "...it's alright."

He clenched the pokéball in his hand, hoping against hope that he'd be able to do something— anything, to hold off that monster for two minutes.

_Wait, it's an ice-type, so… but would type-advantage be enough?_

Ritchie glanced at the ice-type again.

_I don't need to win, just last for two minutes. In that case…_

He quickly changed the pokéball in his hand with a different one, and threw it out into the air. "Charmeleon, I choose you!"

Bach arched an eyebrow. _So, the little tyke evolved eh? Perhaps, this won't be over as soon as I thought._

The charmeleon landed upon the floor, its limbs powerful and turgid, and its claws easily puncturing through the rocky floor, as it stood and gazed up at the magnificent creature that was staring down at it, and let out a snort of flames.

"A charmeleon. Are you expecting to win because of a type advantage?" Ariana asked, tilting her head to the right."How cute."

Ritchie had the distinct feeling that he was a bug, and was being stared at hungrily_, _by a bird of prey. "Charmeleon, be careful. We do not know how it will attack, so tread with caution."

"Defensive, how pitiful. This isn't even a battle, this is _paperwork."_ She stared at him in the eye. "Headbutt."

Before Ritchie could even register who it was she was addressing, the glalie shot straight at the charmeleon. Zippo did manage to leap backward but the glalie didn't stop. Instead, it kept shooting ahead, forcing the poor fire-type to crouch, leap and dodge its way backward— all the while nearing the perimeter of the field behind him.

"Zippo, use Metal Claw to block its next head-butt."

"Ice Shard," Ariana replied in a monotone.

A large shard of ice, shaped like a spearhead, materialized in front of the glalie's mouth, before it shot straight at the charmeleon, slamming into its shining claws. The sheer momentum was more than enough to force Zippo's arms out of the way. Without allowing Zippo to regain his bearings, the glalie stormed in and slammed into the fire-type, banishing it all the way to the wall.

"Congratulations," Ariana replied in a soft tone. If not for the slight twinge of her lips, her tone would have sounded almost sincere. "If this was a real fight, you guys would no longer be breathing. You do your family proud. Well as proud as someone can be of a petty criminal."

Ritchie gritted his teeth, but a spare glance at his pokémon told him that it was best to allow her to monologue. If nothing else, it would give Zippo some time to get up from the floor.

"One of the first rules of battling is to never defend in the opening stages." She spoke again, almost like she was trying to teach an unruly student. "You might as well just accept defeat."

"Fighting someone whose skills I'm not acquainted with, head-on, is stupid." Ritchie fired back. "Zippo, use flamethrower."

Ariana arched an eyebrow. The glalie in question, simply shifted to the right, dodging the attack before zooming straight at the charmeleon and slammed into its gut. Zippo coughed, as his flamethrower was cut off. The glalie, almost mockingly, floated right in front of it, before giving out a sadistic grin.

"Charmeleon, use Metal Claw."

"Again? Are you trying to test the limits of just how futile a move can be?" Ariana asked. "Dodge back. Ice Shard."

With effortless ease, the ice-type levitated backward and almost instantly shot back twin icicles of ice at the lizard, each of them aimed at either hand. The ice shards dug into Zippo's hide, spilling blood.

"You are trying to win, aren't you?" Ariana asked. "As soon as you go on to the defensive, you give your opponent an opening, and congratulations, you _still _don't know her moves. If you know you are stronger than them, defending gives them an opportunity they normally wouldn't have. If you are equal or weaker to them, then defending gives them the initiative, and the opportunity to end the battle in a single move. And even if you scope them out so what? It's entirely possible that your pokémon will be injured in the opening sequence and you cannot utilize your new information advantage. Learn how to gauge your opponents while attacking. Analyze their responses to your moves and understand—"

"Just shut up!" Ritchie glared. "Use flamethrower again."

Ariana chuckled, almost completely unoffended, as Glalie shifted again, dodging the flamethrower with amazing dexterity. Like each and every one of its previous attacks, it followed the dodge with a Headbutt, this time choosing to ram into the charmeleon's gut. It was almost like it was casually punishing the lizard whenever it made a stupid mistake.

Ritchie glanced at the clock. Sixty seconds left.

_Keep talking. Waste time._

Fifty seconds.

Zippo was learning. He was spreading his attacks, and he was dodging.

I'm going to make it. He realized. I'm actually going to succeed.

"All right," Ariana clapped her hands, almost in exhilaration."And now, forty seconds to go." She turned towards the glalie. "End it."

Ritchie was floored. This girl… woman, knew he was trying to draw the match out? And she just let it happen? Just what the hell was she think—?

The glalie opened its maw for the first time, a massive silvery-white orb forming within. It shot forward, freezing the ground around Zippo. And his legs.

_She is trying to get rid of his mobility._

"Zippo, use flamethrower," Ritchie dictated, shifting completely to offense. The ice on its lower part would not matter. He just needed to last twenty seconds. "Keep firing flamethrowers at the glalie."

The glalie in question seemed to ignore the torrents of flame shooting towards it and instead shot what seemed like a ball of light towards Zippo. Before Ritchie could even comprehend what was happening, the ball of light slammed into the charmeleon, almost fossilizing its body inside ice. The flames on his tail were now flickering dangerously low, trying to keep on burning, despite the ice trying to crush its spirits down.

"One of my personal inventions.," Ariana spoke again. " It entraps the opponent inside an ice crystal. It essentially works like an ice beam with one key divergence. It feeds on the opponent's body temperature. Chances of survival plummet with every passing second, especially for a fire type so… tick tock!"

"What?" Ritchie yelled, "but then my Zippo will die. Let me get him out of there."

"Sure." Ariana shrugged. "Forfeit the match, and I'll let it free. Or else, keep hanging for the next..." She checked her watch, "thirteen seconds. Thirteen, such an interesting number. Oh, it's twelve now."

Zippo screamed in defiance, rage and hysteria inside the ice crystal, trying to push its way out to no avail. Its tail flame could be seen flickering even more dangerously, as the lack of oxygen started to affect its brain.

Ten seconds.

Ritchie opened his mouth, his heart screaming at him to yell out, and forfeit, to ask Ariana to let his Zippo go, to _beg _her, if that be necessary. After all, nothing else mattered as long as Zippo's life was spared. Right?

Nothing was more important to him than his team, and it was a rule that he had always had, and would continue to abide by in the future. His mouth opened, determined to end the fight. Zippo was suffering and that was enough.

But no words came out.

Instead, he heard something incredibly selfish speak to him in his own voice.

_Yell out and forfeit? And what comes next? You'll be thrown out of Team Rocket, and then you will be killed. Each and every one of your team will be killed._

His mouth slowly shut, even as his fists remained clenched. He cast a single glance at his beloved Zippo, who was trying to scream its lungs out, screaming for oxygen, for the ice crystal to shatter, for his life, for his trainer who was standing next to him and yet, doing nothing to save him.

Ritchie felt his eyes tear up, and turned his head to look—

"Don't you dare look away. This is your pokémon and your support. This is what fought for you, and something that is now fighting for its last breath because of a decision you made. If you have decided to let it suffer, then _look _at it in the eye, and watch it suffer because of your own decision to not give up." Ariana yelled. For the first time, she looked almost angry. As though she had been in a similar situation once.

Eight more seconds.

"I…" Ritchie tried to speak, but words failed him. It _hurt, _and for a moment, it felt like killing himself would be more desirable than to stand like— like an emotionless, heartless statue, sentencing his Zippo to a gruesome death so that he could survive. For one moment he could see Mickey standing in front of him.

"_A word of advice kid. Throw away those pokémon of yours, and start afresh. This ain't worth it."_

It had sounded so condescending back then, but he had pestered the man, and thrown in a better deal. It had felt surprisingly good, having the ability to choose his future. Now, it felt like he had just chosen one poison over another. He remembered his own naivety when Mickey had told him about the prospects of joining Team Rocket.

"_They are criminals…"_

"_So are you…"_

It had hurt back then, to hear those harsh truths. But it had been out of desperation, since he knew that he had been right, and the other person was to blame. But now…

Five seconds.

Ritchie opened his mouth. "Survive," He said, his heart almost breaking with his next words "If you lose here, everyone will die. I can't give up. Just... survive, and everything will be fine."

A few yards away, Butch smirked.

Three.

Two.

The charmeleon gave out one last breath, its limbs now pale and bluish, inactive and unresponsive…

One.

The lizard did not move, though a tiny flame continued to flicker at the end of its tail.

"That will be enough!" Ariana commanded.

The glalie's grin widened for a second before the crystal surrounding the charmander shattered. Zippo dropped down to the ground, its body bluish, and mind comatose. The only shred of hope he had was the tiny flame flickering at the end of its tail.

"You pass," Ariana spoke at last, "and you made a good decision. Your team is important, but your life and Team Rocket holds greater priority. As long as you keep that in mind, you'll progress."

"My Zippo…" Ritchie breathed, a lone tear escaping his left eye.

"Is comatose. Might even end up dead." Ariana spoke with indifference, before turning towards the coach, who was staring at Ritchie with a strange gleam in his eyes. "I presume he can be given one of the spare graveler then?"

"No. I have something else in mind for him".

Ariana nodded before turning back towards Ritchie. "Your pokémon can always be substituted, but your life, and above all, your association with Team Rocket supersedes everything. Remember, _pokémon exist solely for the use of humanity_. You can care for them. Teach them. But they should never supersede your loyalty. Not to Team Rocket and certainly not to your own life."

Having said her piece, she turned around and walked away, leaving a tormented and traumatic Ritchie behind. A moment later the coach followed her.

Neither of them looked back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	11. Act 1 - Immolation | Chapter 11 - The Price of Freedom

According to 'Types and Classification - Know Your Pokémon!', the official textbook mandated by the Pokémon Trainer Certification Authority, pokémon are classified into two main categories— those that can be sorted according to physiological differences, and those that are sorted according to elemental affinities. Of the former, there exist five major subdivisions— _steel, rock, flying, poison_, and _bug_. Apart from the last one, every single category could be generalized as a modification of the body to include elements of their typing.

Physiological differences in steel-types were almost always expressed as body armor, granting them incredible defense and bulk which usually came at the expense of speed. Rock-types, on the other hand, covered a whole spectrum of pokémon, with some being entirely made up of rock, to others with external or internal rock-based structures.

Flying-types were similarly classified because their body morphology allowed flight, most of the time through wings. Poison-types too were easily described— pokémon that secreted poison, toxins, and venom of different kinds, usually through specific glands or organs present in their body.

It was the fifth archetype— the bug-type —that was considered to be the most interesting, at least from a researcher's point-of-view.

Unlike the rest, bug-types did not have any form of protrusions, either for offense or defense. Instead, what made bugs unique, was their ability for constant innate metamorphosis as well as their development of an exoskeleton, though there were several viewpoints about the latter.

If one was to look at the standard bug move-pool, one would find that bugs tended to use their bodies, morphing them constantly, to survive. A bug was able to use its exoskeleton to create weapons to protect its frail body. The more common examples of this would be the use of scythes for scyther, horns for pinsir, and stingers for beedrill.

Furthermore, bugs were easily able to metamorphose their body parts and convert them into explosive powders and poisons, allowing them to hurt the opponent or provide the needed destruction to flee. This theory also explained why bugs were so easily vulnerable to fire since flames tended to have an adverse effect on their constantly changing physiology, which more often than not, contained inflammable substances.

Another interesting thing to note was that bugs tended to have faster responses than most other types. Their frail bodies were usually augmented with heightened perceptions which usually expressed itself in the form of a hypersensitive sense of smell, though certain bugs have subcutaneous respiration so their sense of touch is just as perceptive.

Most bugs, in their infancy, were extremely weakened, and essentially served as prey to other species. A statistical survey showed that only 2 out of every 100 stage-one bugs evolved to stage-2, and 1 out of every 20 of them evolved further to stage-3. It was only their massive reproduction rates that kept the bug-types from being classified as endangered.

Having to work on a ranch with over one-third of the area covered in forestland had blessed Red with an enormous exposure to bug-types. Come to think of it, it was almost fascinating that while he wanted to become a powerful dragon-tamer, it was his nigh encyclopedic knowledge of bug-types that surpassed any other. It was what had helped him capture the thief— an unruly scyther, who was currently sprawled on the ground, convulsing in pain and fury.

"What's wrong with it? Is it in pain?" Misty asked, walking up to him. Fun fact— Misty Waterflower had no issues standing up to large predators, _eve_n if they were bugs. She could stand and glare at the fallen scyther, no problem. The majority of her phobia seemed to be limited to the tiny, creepy, crawling bugs that roamed the forest floor.

Bugs like weedle and caterpie.

Not that he minded. In fact, he was pretty happy that he only had to deal with _just _the scyther screeching out.

He looked towards misty who was thankfully being quite at the moment. Then he looked back to the scyther who was screeching his head off.

He sighed.

_Now there are two of them._

* * *

Meanwhile, Mawile kept a watchful gaze on her trainer from her comfortable place amidst the tree leaves. The little rucksack of leaves and soft bark made a rather comfy bed for her to slack a little.

"There is nothing wrong with it, well, in terms of pain," Red went on, in a tone that Mawile had come to associate with his 'teaching voice'. That or when he was feeling particularly condescending.

"Bugs have incredible sensory perception, especially when it comes to their sense of smell. That's why bug-repellents are so _effective. _They target the bug's olfactory senses, and trigger a nasty response,"— The teen pointed towards the sneezing scyther —" and keeps them off the grounds. Standard bug-repels contain a hundred and fifty sprays, one spray for every hour. _That,"_ he pointed at the scyther again, "is the result of a hundred and fifty sprays, acting all at once, on our unfortunate guest."

It was official, Mawile decided. Red was _scary. _Mawile felt like she needed to up her game. Or else, she'd never retain her control over her trainer.

Her steel jaw shook agreeably.

"Is it going to be alright?" Misty asked. Mawile looked at her, blinking in surprise. She'd never have pegged the orangette as capable of feeling sorry for anything save her precious water-types and Shellder.

…

Which was also a water-type. Never mind.

The point was, she never pegged Misty as someone that could empathize with a bug of all things. Not with the way she was mortally afraid of—

"Well, Scyther don't crawl or anything, right?" Misty asked carefully, treading towards the half-conscious Scyther, who had stopped convulsing and was swiftly losing consciousness.

—Point proven.

'It won't." Red replied confidently. "Now all we need to do is bind it. I can't allow it to run away, especially after all of this. When it wakes up, we'll get our answers to why it was stealing our food."

Mawile tilted her head. Wasn't Red going to catch it? She thought trainers were all about catching pokémon.

"Why don't you just catch it?" Misty asked.

It was _frustrating _to admit, but even Misty had her uses. Really, why couldn't humans evolve a little? She wasn't asking for much, just enough for Red to be able to understand her native tongue.

_Perhaps I should try catching a psychic-type next time? Catching pokémon is… fun. I can see why the craze exists._

"Because catching it means that it will be _unbound _the moment I release it out of its pokéball Free to escape. And more importantly, free to attack us."

"Red?" Misty retorted, slightly taken aback at his forceful demeanor. "Don't you think you're being a little… too paranoid about it? It's just one pokémon."

Red blinked. Then, he blinked again. "Excuse me? Just one pokémon? This is a _freaking Scyther. _It's literally one of the fastest things you'll ever find in Kanto. You'd have better chances of escaping from a herd of tauros."

"Now you're just being too—"

"Misty, this creature can kill me, Mawile and yourself in the blink of an eye. Scyther are just that fast. Do you even understand what's going on? We have a scyther, about to be trapped. The same scyther, whom I might add, we hit with two bug-repels, directly on its face. Either we leave the forest right now, and hope the scyther doesn't ever find us, or—"

"Or?"

Red stayed silent for a while. "Or we try and figure out what it wants, and why it was stealing our food. We'll figure out what to do from there."

* * *

Growlithe had arrived at a conclusion. _Red was crazy._

Ever since the moment he had woken up, the human had been throwing curve-balls in his direction, confusing the hell out of him.

The casual indifference should have been the first sign. There he was, an acid-belching creature that could liquefy all of Red's organs with a single attack. Growlithe's only solace was that Red considered him a normal growlithe, a commonplace creature in the world outside the forest, so much so, that most trainers hardly bothered with ever catching one.

It made him wonder. Was it because the growlithe line was weak, and if so, did that mean that despite his strange powers, he was weaker than the rest? But then, why would the men-in-white keep him bound like that? Was it only for those… experiments? Were they trying to figure out a way to make him stronger? They kept on calling him a 'success' over and over, so that had to mean that he was _special._

_Right?_

Back at the prison, none save him were able to belch out acid, so perhaps he was a success? A success on a comparative basis? He wasn't clear on how much his specialty improved his chances of survival in the world outside of the forest. The warehouse was in the past, and he had gained his freedom. The question was—

_Will I be able to survive on my own, even if I manage to get out?_

Growlithe was pragmatic, but the same pragmatism told him that he was nowhere as fast as the scyther who had tried to steal food from the humans. In fact, Growlithe was sure he hadn't even seen the scyther appearing, and yet, Red had been able to best it with his own cleverness and preparation. Growlithe didn't know how the human knew about the scyther's intentions, so he presumed that he simply did not have enough information.

Either way, the human was scary as hell. No doubt about that.

Growlithe considered his situation. The human—Red, was normally docile and _simple_ enough to happily heal an injured pokémon without reservations. Personally, Growlithe would have called it being too _naïve, _but he really couldn't bring himself to dislike the human for it. Red had _promised _him that he'd be helping him get rid of the belt around his neck. And that was all there was to it. There had been no words about how growlithe would need to pay him back, or if Red even wanted anything in return. It was like the act of securing Growlithe's freedom didn't even matter to him.

Growlithe didn't know what to feel about that. A part of him felt his pride hurt, but he was used to that. There was no place for pride in the white-walled maze.

Perhaps if he knew just how special Growlithe was, the human would show the other side of his personality— the one that had just risen when he had boasted over his capture of the scyther. In fact, growlithe was _almost sure _that the human would capture the unfortunate bug-type, and enslave it for the rest of its natural life. The scyther's capture had almost made him stand up and run away, in fear that he had simply traded one evil human for another.

Then, he heard Red speak, and once again, it threw him out of the loop.

"_Or we try and figure out what it wants, and why it was stealing our food. We'll figure out what to do from there."_

See? Crazy. First, the human demonstrated an admirable cunning and preparation to capture his prey, and then, despite his rather… heavy-handed approach, he was completely okay with not catching it. From the way Red had described the scyther, it was powerful, and more importantly lethal, much like himself. A part of him had secretly wanted Red to capture the bug. If nothing else, it would at least give him an answer to Red's indifference, confirming Growlithe's assumption over the lack of interest in him.

But now? Now he wondered if this Red human suffered from some kind of multiple-personality disorder.

For the following hour, Growlithe had silently observed Red get nagged by the other orange-haired girl over the training of the little water-type they called a shellder. Growlithe hadn't seen one of those prior to this, so he assumed that was what the species was called, and by the looks of it, shellder were pretty docile. And useless.

He wondered why the two humans were so… enthusiastic about teaching it how to grow powerful and learn a new move. Perhaps the humans, being physiologically weak as they were, sympathized with other physiologically weak creatures like shellder? It would certainly explain why Red smothered the shellder with all of that attention.

Shellder was weak. The mawile, for all its deceptions, had a rather frail figure. Perhaps this was why it preferred to associate with the humans? But then, what about the other creature? Why would that giant, vicious metallic avian follow Red so willingly?

No, nothing really made sense. Perhaps this was all still some bizarre dream and he was still trapped inside the prison?

Growlithe shuddered at the thought.

"Trying to figure him out, are you?"

Growlithe was suddenly taken aback by the sudden intrusion. More importantly, it was the familiar voice that accompanied said intrusion that upped his paranoia by several levels. He managed to allow an acceptable amount of anger into his voice, as he softly growled…

"You…"

Mawile grinned. "Me."

"Why are you here? Have you come to attack me again?"

Mawile blinked. "Nope. Just casually wondering how long you are going to stare at my trainer."

"I'm not… staring. I'm observing."

"I should've known that you'd turn out to be a fascinating one," Mawile replied wistfully. "Though I'm yet to see any of the… special powers you boasted about the other day."

Growlithe took offense at that. "Why should I reveal my powers to someone who used trickery to catch me off-guard. Had it been a fair fight, I'd have burnt you alive."

Mawile grinned. "Well, that's hardly an incentive for me to play fair, is it?"

"But. You. Cheated."

Mawile pointed towards herself with a deadpan. "Deceiver."

Growlithe muttered something under his breath, before glancing back at the humans. "Why doesn't your trainer catch the bug? It looks powerful. It is certainly… fast."

Mawile had a strange smile on her face. "Why? Are you jealous? I'm sure Red will capture you if you ask nicely."

For the second time, Growlithe suppressed an urge to liquefy the creature by drowning her in acid. "I didn't escape from that prison to get enslaved by another human."

"Then why are you still here? Red has certainly not bound you in any way. And you are healed by now. I think."

And wasn't that a damn good question? _Why didn't I leave?_

The mawile certainly had a point, however much Growlithe wanted to deny it. There was nothing tying him there, and he was almost confident that Red wouldn't really stop him from leaving. In fact, he was unsure if Red even cared about his presence. All his life, he had lived as a captive, but had never been devoid of attention. And now, he found the lack of attention to his person strangely… humiliating. There was this burning urge to belch out some acid and attract attention back towards himself.

Instead, he glanced at the large avian who was circling around the humans from the sky. A distant observer would probably consider that a preparation for assault, but he knew better. The avian was maintaining a birds-eye-view on things, ready to swoop down the moment anything… sinister happened.

"Why does the bird follow him?" He asked, feeling slightly surprised at his own frankness.

Mawile glanced upwards at Skarmory and sighed. "To be honest, I don't know myself. Red… well, Red and I had a battle against a giant meanie of an ursaring. I crushed him of course."

"You don't need to lie.." Growlithe muttered, sparing her a side-glance. "Sneaky you may be, but you could hardly bring down an ursaring. I've seen how large and powerful they are."

"You mean more difficult than it was to put you down?" Mawile replied playfully, her cute charm up to maximum effect. "Yep, it was more difficult than that."

Growlithe ignored the provocative dig and spoke icely. "I was right. It seems you can only win through deception."

"Fair play is a privilege of the strong." Mawile retorted back, all signs of her playfulness vanishing at his statement. She turned towards Skarmory with a wistful expression. "As it stands, I defeated that ursaring and Red won her."

"_Won?"_

"Won," Mawile admitted. "Like a trophy."

Growlithe looked away. "I escaped out of that prison to live in a free world. Now it feels like I exchanged a small prison for a larger one."

"Pfft!" Mawile scoffed. "An idealist. How _boring."_

Growlithe glanced at her, meeting her eyes. "Are you _defending _what these humans have done to us? Capturing and experimenting upon us? Causing us pain?"

Mawile opened her mouth to speak, but Growlithe bet her to it, "I can understand that you are weak, and so you need to find other ways to survive. But look at that creature." He glanced at Skarmory who was soaring upwards now. "She's majestic and powerful. Should she decide to do so, she could slaughter us all. None of us, including me, would be able to fight back."

"And yet she follows a human. She could have been given to any other trainer. The other humans might not have been like Red though. I wonder if she'd follow them around like she does with Red."

"Perhaps she's lost her confidence?"

Mawile gave him a deadpan stare. "She wants to be revered as _king."_

Growlithe chortled. "A captive king?"

Mawile shrugged. "I'm not very much... acquainted with her past. Either way, I'm just happy she'd with us, even though she can be a bit overbearing."

Growlithe regarded her. For someone who claimed to be a deceiver, the mawile was being surprisingly honest. Of course, her current truthfulness was still up for debate. "You seem very… affectionate to your human."

"Red."

Growlithe grunted in affirmation.

"Well, Red is _dopey, _but he cares for me a lot. I told you, remember? He gets me poképuffs, and cuddles me a lot, and helps me get stronger. I'd never be able to beat that ursaring without all the things that Red's been teaching me. He's a bit of a doofus, and goes overboard from time to time, but I like him well enough."

"Strength in return for slavery." Growlithe scoffed.

"It is not. _Slavery_." Mawile gritted her teeth in exasperation. "Why doesn't your stupid dog-brain understand that? We're… we're partners. Red supports me and takes care of me. Even more than my own mother ever did. He gives me a lot more freedom than I had back at home. He makes me stronger, and not just me, but Skarmory, and even that mute little shit he's fussing over right now," she glared at him. "See that orangette? When she accuses me of something, Red defends me. That's not slavery."

Growlithe shrugged. "Gilded cages are still cages."

"_They might be." _Mawile nearly snarled, "but the world around us is a _human _world. You think you know better? Try surviving out there! You've only seen this forest, and whatever prison you're from. In the world out there, the humans will see you and find whatever makes you _special,"_ Mawile sneered at the last word. "And when they find you, they'll catch you. Even I could get the better of you. What makes you think the world outside will be any different?"

Growlithe growled at her harshness, wanting to shut her up for good. A tiny, vengeful part of him wanted to spit acid on her face. Feeling her vulnerable little face getting melted would probably help her understand her place in the world. It wouldn't make any of her words less true though. In fact, there was probably some shred of truth in them, which was why he didn't reply and instead turned to face the human.

Red was sitting several yards away, talking to the orange-head, almost oblivious to the shellder clamped on his hair.

_Perhaps a change of approach is in order._

"Even if what you say might be true, I don't see why you're being this… forward with me. Your human— _Red," _he sneered the name out, "didn't even try to catch me. Are you here to make up for his shortcomings?"

Mawile tipped her head to the left, as if in thought. Then, a sly grin spread upon her lips. Naturally, it did _nothing _to set him at ease.

"Well, that is a definite possibility. My trainer cares for me, so is it not natural for me to care for him in return? We're _partners, _remember?"

Growlithe scoffed, not having anything to refute back in return. "What are you suggesting? That I should happily embrace this gilded cage and dance at his beck and call?"

"Well," Mawile's tone turned mischievous. "You did say that you escaped from a prison. Did you dance for your captors there?"

Growlithe growled at her provocation.

"Red cares for me. I grow stronger. I can see the world. I even get poképuffs."Mawile continued. "And you…."

Mawile paused and looked him in the eye.

"What is it that you want most?"

* * *

**Meanwhile...**

"Most elemental moves, are actually part of an extended move-chain, and they usually start from basic-tier moves."

Misty shook her head. "That's incorrect, or rather, inadequate. Firstly, it's not just about elemental moves. In theory, _any _move out there is a part of a move-chain," She paused for a second, "and before you ask, let me tell you that just because they are called _basic-tier, _doesn't mean any stage-1 pokémon can master it."

"On a comparative scale then," Red concluded, seeing his companion nod back. Briefly, he went through his own knowledge about the elemental types out there. By definition, there were six of them— _fire, water, ice, electric, grass, _and _ground. _While he made it a regular habit to keep himself updated on movesets in general, he had never really classified them into move-chains prior to this.

"Can you give me a basic example of this?"

Misty beamed. It felt good to be appreciated. Over the last two weeks, she had tried several times, unsuccessfully she might add, to gain an upper hand over their working equation. Initially, she had thought him to be just another trainer, but his encyclopedic knowledge about bug-types, in general, had brought her actions to a screeching halt. Finally, she was free to show off a little, and that felt wonderful.

"Sure," she answered, "take Water Gun for example. A basic-tier move. Any decent water-type is able to learn something that basic by themselves, and often within three to six months of their birth."

Misty sighed as she saw Red's eyes wander to the water-type currently chewing on his hair.

"…well, shellder are, to be honest, not considered in that category. Magikarp, psyduck and slowpoke are also similar in that respect. On the contrary, their evolved forms are almost instinctively able to use high-tier water moves.."

"I see," Red muttered.

Misty continued. "With practice, the power behind Water Gun can slowly be increased, usually in proportion to the pokémon's own physical development. The actual interesting part though is about the Stadtfeld phenomenon."

"Stad— what?"

Misty giggled at that. "Stadtfeld. It is a calculated value describing the factors that determine the move set. It has a scale that sets a value to every move, and makes it easy to identify and distinguish the different move sets, and allows better creation of independent, and mutated moves. Basically, it allows for easy creation of move-tutors."

Red blinked. "Come again?"

Misty stared at him with a half-despondent expression. "Basically, it allows you to understand the power requirements associated with a particular move. Something like Water Gun ranges from 10 to 40. In case you are wondering, an Ember attack also has the same range."

"So, they are equal," Red concluded.

Misty smiled. Her acquaintance-turned-friend had just made the same presumption that she herself had made back when she had been taught the lesson for the first time. "No. It simply means that the power requirements needed to _produce_ a Water gun, and Ember, are equal. It does not mean that the two attacks are equal in power, nor suggest that they will nullify each other."

"Oh," Red muttered. "That is interesting."

Misty gave him a wry grin. "Most people tend to misunderstand it and think that an attack of higher Stadtfeld value should overpower another. Anyway, with enough training, a pokémon is capable of raising the Stadtfeld value of Water Gun past 60, and that is when it gets interesting."

Red narrowed his eyes. "I thought you said that the range was between—"

"10 and 40, I know," Misty nearly snapped at the interruption. "40 to 60 can be considered… a transition, if you will."

"A transition?" He questioned? "So Hydro—"

"It becomes Hydro Pump." Misty declared, unwilling to let him finish her statement. " And its Stadtfeld range is from 60 to 110. It might go a little higher than that, but a Hydro Pump on that level is enough to submerge an entire stadium. Also, the after-effects of using a Hydro Pump of 120 or higher would be serious, and the user could be damaged for life."

"You listening?"

"Huh? Yeah, just thinking about it. So, the range is not just an indicator of the power usage, it also indicates if the pokémon itself is capable of using a particular move or not. Shellder cannot utilize Water Gun, so if it is forced to use, say, a Hydro Pump, through a TM, it might cause serious injuries."

Misty blinked. She had certainly not expected him to derive that corollary so quickly.

_How… annoying._

"Misty?"

"Sorry." Misty shook off her internal musings. "Lady Lorelei tells us, that upon shifting from a lower Stadtfeld range to a higher one— Water Gun to Hydro Pump, for instance, something inherently _changes _inside the pokémon, causing a subtle yet fundamental change to its body physiology. You'll find that while using Hydro Pump for the first couple of times might be difficult, it will get easier with successive attempts."

"But couldn't that simply be that the pokémon is trying to figure out how to do it the correct way?" Red questioned. "When I first gave Mawile the TM for Double team, it took a while for her to create four clones. After some practice, she was able to make six to eight clones with ease."

_Seriously, why is he even a trainer? Papa would have put him with the researcher team immediately._

"Because," Misty said slowly, "unlike learning a basic move through a TM where you simply acquire the muscle memory for the move, learning intermediate or elite-tier moves usually require changes in body physiology. The first couple of attempts take a while because your body is adjusting to the change in its structure. As soon as you get acquainted with your modified form, you can use it at full power," she paused, "but yes, I can see why both look similar to an untrained eye."

"Is that why one cannot simply learn powerful moves through TMs from the very start?"

"Yes, that is exactly why. If your body is not… specialized to use a move, and you try to mimic a move based on the TM-muscle memory, you can severely injure, and even cripple yourself."

"Right."

"Anyway," Misty sat up a little straighter. "That is exactly how move chains are formed. You might have heard about another basic-tier move called _Bubble?"_

"The use of air-filled bubbles in mass droves?"

"The very same. Bubble has a Stadtfeld range of 10 to 20. Rather short, I know. Most water-types can actually learn Bubble Beam directly, as long as they are able to comprehend the concept behind Bubble first. Bubble Beam has a range of 20 to 60. At its limit, a Bubble Beam is a dangerous move to be used against anything with a fleshy body, especially when used in combination with something like Scald."

"Never heard of that one," Red muttered. "I'll check it out."

Misty ignored that, not wanting to digress again. "Several moves are created by manipulating the factor variables, though it is mostly pressure and temperature as far as water-type moves are considered. After mastering Bubble Beam, the next level is performing the exact opposite. Instead of air inside a water-bubble, the objective is to create a sphere of highly compressed water, inside an air bubble. It is called—"

"Water pulse." Red finished for her. "I know that one. One of the coolest water-type attacks I've ever seen."

Misty almost chuckled at the child-like excitement in his voice. It was such a shift from the semi-stoic Red that she saw every now and then. It made her a little curious. Why was an average fourteen-year-old like that? She was sixteen, bordering on seventeen, and she still had difficulties not wearing her heart on her sleeve. Red though, it was almost like watching a grown-up individual dealing with things, especially with the efficiency with which he had caught the bugs for her. His methods screaming _experienced _to anyone with the eyes to see it. Even the ruthless efficiency with which he had taken the scyther down spoke of it, considering the casual manner in which he had employed unconventional approaches to a potentially wild situation. It was almost like watching a—

"Misty?"

"Huh? Right, where was I?"

Red arched an eyebrow. "We were talking about Water Pulse."

"Uh… yah, about that. So, conjuring a full-fledged Water Pulse is considered proof of mastery of water-pressure manipulation, since even the slightest disbalance will cause a Water Pulse to go out of control and erupt in the caster's hands. There's a reason it's considered an elite-tier move you know."

'Bubble, Bubble Beam and then Water Pulse," Red mused, "that makes a complete move-chain then?"

"In essence yes, though it is not uncommon for elite-trainers to combine two final-tier moves into something greater. In fact, Lady Lorelei tells us that such composite moves often have entire move chains created for them."

Misty looked distinctly pleased with the slightly lost look on Red's face.

* * *

For the first time in a long while, Red was feeling out of his depth. He was trying to figure out how to teach some basic moves to Shellder, and trying to increase Mawile's versatility. Skarmory was powerful, but he hadn't yet come to a definite conclusion in regards to her abilities, and was still in the experimental phase of her training. The entire experience at the Trainer Square, defeating one opponent after another, had given him a confidence boost. Winning a _skarmory _of all things had simply been the icing on the cake.

Now though… Upon hearing about the moves from a technical perspective, he had a sudden realization of just how tiny, how insignificant he and his team truly were. Here he was, a mere rookie, muddling his way through experiments with his limited knowledge. His team was yet to master a single of these move-chains, and yet, there were dozens of elite-tier trainers out there, creating new move-chains out of high-tier natural moves. And sitting there, above all of them, like a shining beacon, untouched by all except the highest of the elite, was the Champion.

And he had boasted about beating 'the Champion' over and over, back in school. No wonder everyone had laughed at him.

"Red?"

His contemplations were subdued down at Misty's curious tone. "Sorry, I was just wondering…" He felt his thoughts get muddy, unsure of what it was he truly wanted to ask the girl. "Can you tell me about some of these… composite moves?"

"Well, there's Aqua Jet for one, but it is a single composite move with no further derivations. Though I believe there is a move-tutor called Aqua Tail which had similar requirements and follows a similar procedure, though it is concentrated over the tail," she paused, "come to think of it, it should be easier to perform than a full-body Aqua Jet, and much less effective. It doesn't require much pressure manipulation either."

"Why would you intentionally create a move that is less effective than an existing original?"

"Good question." Misty nodded in approval. "That's because, at the elite-level and higher, there are several components that need attention while creating a move. Effectiveness and strength are important factors, but powerful moves also come with large power and stamina consumption. A trained wartortle can probably use a Hydro Pump attack twice before getting exhausted, but the same pokémon can throw several dozens of Water Guns and still retain enough stamina to keep going. A one-hit kill-off move that has a one-time-use is cool, but a slightly less effective move that can be used multiple times is cooler."

"I… think I get it," Red muttered. He was slowly getting the hang of it. "But what about the entire thing about combining two final-tier moves into something else, that you mentioned?"

"Ah, that one." Misty looked at him wistfully. "There's only one that I can think of, as far as water-type is concerned. It's called Hydro Cannon_."_

"Fancy name." Red chuckled. "Let me guess, it sends multiple super-large Hydro Pumps in a single instance or something? Or compress them into a giant Water Pulse?"

Misty chortled at that. "No dummy. It's something completely different. Did I ever tell you about how my father became the Cerulean City gym leader?"

"Uhm… not that I remember."

Misty waved him off. "Did you know that before the establishment of Commerce Citadel, Cerulean was responsible for the production of electricity through its hydel-projects?"

"Of course," Red nodded. They had gone over that in school. Commerce Citadel was the newest establishment in Kanto. Built around twenty-eight years ago, on the plain land between the ever-busy Saffron, the commercial center Celadon, and within close reach of the Vermillion harbor, it was practically a sprawling estate around thermal and electromagnetic power plants. In fact, over eighty percent of the power requirements of the three cities, and some nearby towns were supplied by Citadel's power plants. It was also an abode for electric-types, which was the main reason trainers visited the place.

At his cue, Misty continued her story. "Some thirty-two years ago, there was a catastrophic attack on Cerulean City," Misty paused here for effect," More specifically, Zapdos appeared over Cerulean, bringing untold destruction. There are rumors that it was fighting something else, stopping it from hurting Kanto, though dad thinks the opposite might be true. He… doesn't like legendaries very much."

"Wait, a minute. Zapdos as in the legendary bird of lightning? _Zapdos_?"

"No, Zapdos my sister's pet politoed. The one she uses to create rainbows for her shows." Misty deadpanned.

Red rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, it was a disaster. Some of the hydel projects exploded, and the fire spread all over the city. One of my grandfather's oil-rigs was lost there too. Water-master Gregory, who was the Gym Leader of Cerulean, and my dad's teacher, made his Blastoise perform the move." Misty spoke almost reverentially.

"Hydro Cannon?" Red inquired.

Misty motioned her head. "It's not exactly clear what or how that Blastoise did what it did, but from what my dad told me, it shot a Water Pulse-like orb from its cannon into the sky. And then something amazing happened."

"And then?" Red asked. Clearly, Misty was enjoying being put in the teaching role, with all this dramatic pausing.

"And then, the water pulse began to spread out unilaterally until it was over several dozen acres in diameter. It held for a single second, before it erupted, like a giant hole in the sky. And from within, water came gushing down, submerging half the city, and extinguishing the flames. It was like the sky had torn itself had been torn apart, and the clouds wanted the sea to reclaim the land. To sink it beneath like it was once, eons ago_."_

Even from the awe in her voice, Red mused that it must have been something otherworldly to watch. His mind though, was running ahead, trying to fathom ways in which something like that could possibly have happened. His years at the ranch— working with the professor —had taught him that everything had a reason. An explanation. Just because one did not know the answer didn't mean that there wasn't one.

And the problem here was glaringly huge.

"A water attack that was able to submerge half the city?" He asked, his tone was filled with curiosity and skepticism, "I'm not really trying to call it crazy, but no Blastoise could have done that. I mean, at maximum power, a powerful Blastoise's Hydro Pump can flood a small lake. But to submerge a city?"

"I'm not making it up." Misty looked affronted, instantly going on the defensive.

Red raised his palms in surrender. "I'm not accusing you of that either, but from what the old man tells me, pokémon have something inside their body. It is from that… thing, that it is able to create elemental attacks."

"Huh?" Misty crooked her head. "What do you mean?"

Red frowned, deciding to use the man's original description. "Like that growlithe over there. It's a fire-type, so it has something called an _Inner Flame, _inside it. When it uses an Ember attack, it uses the inner-flame to generate fire. The old man told me that inner-flame is almost like the soul or something like that. He told me that the stronger a pokémon got, the larger his inner-flame would grow, and by extension, the more powerful attacks it can use."

He conveniently ignored the part of his mind whispering about how the professor had used the above example as an analogy because Red had been too young to understand the technical details.

"That sounds like a rudimentary theory at best, taught to beginners. It's not something I'd expect a man like Oak to believe in."

Red shrugged. "Either way, from what I understand, the power for an attack comes from within. But no blastoise has that kind of power inside them. What you are describing—"

"I know what you are trying to say." Misty interrupted. "I asked myself something similar. All my dad told me, was that the energy for such attacks came from _somewhere else._ Information like that is heavily restricted by the League.."

"Is your dad—?"

"Able to use something on that scale?" Misty finished for him. "Not a chance. Dad says that people who get to know anything on that scale get tied to the League and the bureaucracy. Dad loves his personal freedom too much to lose it all to learn a single move, even if it is as mind-boggling as that."

"What happened to his teacher?"

"Master Gregory? He died of a... heart attack, I think. That blastoise's still there though, at the gym, though it mostly keeps to itself. Unless something catastrophic happens, it'd probably stay that way."

"Maybe… I mean, can I see that blastoise when I go to Cerulean City?"

Misty smirked. "You can with the right connections. As it is, I'm traveling to Cerulean myself. I don't think after all of this, I'll be returning to school directly. We can teleport from Pewter City together. I have some discount coupons saved so feel free to use one then."

Red looked slightly flustered at the offer. "Thanks, but I kind of wanted to travel through Mt. Moon. So teleporting is not an option. Also, there is the Pewter Gym to be considered, and the growlithe to be freed and everything."

"I hope you didn't presume that I'd abandon the unfortunate creature just like that." Misty looked affronted. "I meant to take the teleport service after you're done. We've spent weeks inside this forest. An extra day or two doesn't even matter. But Mt. Moon? Why would anyone want to go through that wretched place?"

Red chuckled at her constipated expression. "First bugs, now mountains. You should really go and live in Hoenn, or Kalos."

Misty sniffed and returned an imperious stare. "I should inform you that I intend to do that, as soon as I acquire my degree. Hoenn, to be specific. It is really beautiful, and the hot springs are said to be the best in the world. Hoenn is a much better choice than these dire forestlands of Kanto."

"Hey!" Red snapped good-naturedly. "Kanto is cool. I love the mountains and the forests. Did you know that the passages through Mt. Moon keep changing because of internal factors over twice a month? Every time you cross it, it is a unique experience."

"Whatever. Floundering my way beneath layers of mud and soil does not suit me." Misty replied snobbishly, though it was clear that she was just teasing. "Ask for me when you get to Cerulean. Perhaps during your stay there, I can try to steal your attraction away form the grasslands you seem to adore and show you a little bit of the modern city life."

"Sure." Red drawled. While he had traveled to Viridian, he had to admit that it was, after all was said and done, more of a town than a metropolis like Cerulean. In fact, half the population back at Pallet considered Cerulean to be a mix of beach resorts and shopping districts. Almost exotic, compared to the simplicity of Pallet.

"Either way, it should be some time before I reach there. Pewter is supposed to be huge, and there are all kinds of rock-types in the mountains surrounding it. Even if scyther turns out to be… manageable, it'd be vulnerable to rock-types, and I need something to help me defeat Brock in a 3 on 3 match."

"A 3 on 3?" Misty asked. "You don't want a rookie handicap?"

Red shook his head. Rookie handicaps were part of the gym rules and regulations. A rookie trainer with two capable pokémon or less was able to challenge a gym leader to a 1 on 1 match. It allowed the trainer to acquire a gym badge as well as ensure that his pokémon didn't die in the process. But choosing a 3 on 3 simply meant getting past the handicap, and should the trainer be able to win it, he'd be placed at a high-rookie or low-intermediate level, depending upon his performance.

"I don't think choosing the handicap would be a good idea. It might facilitate my getting the badge, but it'd mean nothing. Not after I've fought so many trainers, and gotten this far."

Misty sniffed. "Boys."

* * *

When Scyther finally gained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the scent of cooked meat in the air.

_Not good. My nose burns. This is going to be a pain until it heals. Insufferable creatures these humans._

He considered his situation. There were three ropes, bound to his form. The first one was on his back, tying his arms together, and high enough to prevent any _accidental _contact with his scythes. The second one was below his knees, binding his feet together. The third was fastened over his chest, tying his wing blades to his back, preventing all chances of flight. This was hardly his first encounter with _humans— _Scyther sneered at the thought —but they usually preferred to use those heinous devices called pokéballs to capture instead. This was the first time Scyther had seen someone use a technique so… unconventional, and yet effective.

_...Troublesome._

He stayed in that position, unmoving for several minutes. Presently, he was lying face-first on the ground. If he tried to roll over, he'd be in an even more vulnerable position, with the scythes trapped between himself and the ground. At least they were currently between himself and anything that might try to attack him from above. But more importantly, he could see the humans in the corner of his eye, laughing and chattering less than a half a dozen yards away. Movement might attract their attention.

_Not very helpful. But if I manage to roll over, I might be able to cut through one of the bindings. Worth a try?_

Unlike the other bugs, Scyther hadn't been born in the expansive forestland that was the Viridian Forest. Instead, his true home was far, far away. He had been caught as a youngling, trying to learn the ropes from his parents back then. He still remembered that day, and quite vividly too. A nuzleaf had been taunting him, over and over again. Scyther, young and ignorant, had given in to his inhibitions, and leaped after him, trying to tear the grass-type to pieces and feed on it.

It had been a trap. A trap, devised by a human, to catch him off-guard.

He had been surrounded by a magmar and the nuzleaf. His rage had gotten the better of him, and he had vehemently attacked, but the magmar had been too powerful. It had charred his wings, and bruised his feet, making it incredibly difficult to move. The human, who had been issuing orders from afar, had laughed and congratulated himself over the effectiveness of his strategy and captured Scyther inside the pokéball.

That was over a year ago.

The human, Paul, had been a hard taskmaster. Initially, Scyther had ignored him, but Paul was stubborn. He was concerned with just one thing—to grow stronger than his own brother Reggie, and for some reason, he thought that the best way to do so was to put his team through _hellish _training. Scyther had resented it at first, though he had gotten used to it when he saw the results when facing other challengers. He had fought off opponents they met during their travels, fought those monstrosities kept by gym-leaders and finally… he had faced the League.

And that was where he had learned _humiliation._

It had been a powerful blaziken, and despite his speed, prowess, and skill— developed through months of rigorous training —Scyther had been forced down to the ground. His face disfigured, his scythe fractured, and covered in burns, he had been sent reeling into the dust.

His somewhat normal life had come to a screeching halt after that.

Scyther shook himself out of his reverie. If Paul were to look at him now, he'd probably sneer and point out that he deserved to be thrown away. All those days and months of diligent training, all those bruises he had acquired, all those battles he had won, and all those humiliating defeats he had suffered…

And for what?

Here he was, tied and bound— rendered helpless by yet another human.

Come to think of it, it wasn't like his skills were inferior. No, his instincts were top-notch, and despite the effect of bug-repel, he had been able to slice through the incoming canister with a single slice. And that had been his undoing.

From his own experiences, trainers almost never used anything else but their pokéballs to capturing wild pokémon. Scyther had presumed this group of humans was something similar and had acted under that assumption. An entire year of surviving on cooked food had ruined Scyther's ability to appreciate the tasteless insects of the forest, and it was the smell of a cooked meal that had attracted him to the current team of human trainers.

For the first couple of days, he had simply used his speed to snatch the food when they weren't looking— a habit stemmed out of his love for cooked steak. The humans were simpletons and had simply fallen for his distractions. The buzzing technique that Paul had made him learn— Bug Buzz, it was called —had proved especially useful in that regard. Scyther had simply not thought that the trainer would think of something this… unconventional. Besides, he had enough experience with _humans _to disdain them. As far as he was concerned, he was stronger, and therefore, it was his right to steal it. Only he who is strong may do what he wishes, uncontested, for he—

_Great. Now I'm quoting him too._

From what he could see, there were at least four pokémon present with his capturer. He could recognize the croconaw from the distance as well as the growlithe, but the rest were unknown to him. That little ivory-ish creature seemed frail, and if his memory served him well, it used the leaf on the back of its head to attack. Nothing particularly powerful, or to be considered as an immediate threat. There was a tiny purplish shell-thing too, but it seemed just as useless as the ivory-ish creature. That left the steel avian, and the only danger as far as Scyther was concerned.

He had enough battle experience to recognize steel when he saw it, and that bird was enveloped with it. A metallic avian was the last thing he wanted to fight since his scythes would be damn near useless. He could probably use Metal Claw, but he wasn't sure if it would penetrate the armor of a true steel-type. He had broken his scythes over a larion that Paul made him battle once. Not an experience he was looking forward to repeating.

Perhaps he could take advantage of his speed and score hits by identifying chinks in its armor. Though, considering his current position, any attempt to try to attack the bird would end up with him becoming a bloody mess upon the ground.

Challenging it was not an option. In fact, the best possible thing to do in his current scenario was to tear through the bindings and escape. Later, he could catch the humans off-guard and slice through their throats for good. He had heard the male boasting about how he had brought Scyther down using his trap, something that had conjured up images of Paul inside his mind. In fact, he couldn't help but relate the male with Paul on various levels. Just like Paul, he had a group of henchmen at his command. Just like Paul, he had a powerful pokémon to put Scyther down. It had been the magmar back, and now, it was this steel avian. And just like Paul, this trainer would probably call his team incompetent when they lost and then throw them away, like yesterday's trash. As if they didn't even matter.

And now he was thinking about Paul all over again. Perhaps he really was just as weak as Paul said he was.

"Mawa— wile!"

Scyther stilled, hearing the ivory-ish creature call out to its trainer. Apparently, it had seen him moving and had just informed the human about it. Scyther rolled over, doing his best to rub the ropes against the grassy floor. He had to do something, and he had to do it now.

* * *

"So, you're the one who's been stealing from us," Red muttered audibly, as he walked towards the bound scyther. "Trying to get out will be futile. It's a constrictor knot— something that gets tighter every time you try to push your arms out."

Scyther screeched in defiance, though he didn't exactly try to pull its scythes out. The human maintained a safe distance from him, obviously not willing to test his luck.

"You don't get to play the victim card, especially considering that you've stolen our food, and forced me and my team to eat subpar meals as a result."

Scyther looked away. It had just been so tempting. It had been a long time since he had had a cooked meal.

"Now while I cannot claim to understand what you have to say about it, Mawile or Skarmory certainly can. I will leave it to them to listen to why a wild one such as you were stealing our food. It's not like the forest is devoid of food as it is."

Despite his disdain, Scyther agreed that the human was correct, no matter how… ruthless he sounded. Despite the massive spread of the Viridian forestland, the most dangerous bug around there were probably pinsir. Beedril were powerful and held strength in numbers, but even their stingers fell short when it came to fighting off the steel horns and monstrous strength boosted by the pinsir population.

Scyther's unwanted presence had disrupted the status quo of the Viridian forest. Apparently, there were no others of his kind in the entire forestland, and the pinsir had claimed all the best hunting-grounds. The addition of a lone scyther had not been taken _nicely _and had resulted in short but periodic skirmishes between himself and them. It had been annoying, but at least his speed and his skill from the gruesome training over the past year had prevented him from being overwhelmed by the pinsir herd. They weren't exactly able to chase him should he choose to flee.

The feelings of disdain, the trauma of being abandoned like that, the hurtful words of the human he had trusted with everything had filled Scyther up with rage. Having to return to the wild, only in a distant land amidst strangers had made it worse. Add to that the smell of nice, cooked food…

"Mawawa!" Mawile barked.

"Mawile," Red cut her off in a softer tone, before turning to the scyther. "Look, if it is just cooked food that you want, we'd have no issue sharing it with you. But if you think you can just steal what's ours and think there will be no repercussions, then you're up for something else."

Scyther sneered. If this trainer was thinking that he'd be able to break his fortitude through trash-talk, he was up for a massive disappointment.

"I'll let Mawile handle the rest," Red added, "but before that, here is an offer. If cooked food is what you want to eat all day, join me, be my pokémon and work as a part of my team. You'd be taken care of, and I'll teach you how to grow stronger, if that's what interests you."

Scyther would have rolled his eyes if he could. Sure, humans knew a lot about getting stronger. Paul had been all about strengthening one's strengths, and Scyther had been inculcated with those TMs— thrice. He was already strong, and if not for these ropes, he would—

"And if I find out that you're intending to cause me and my friends harm because I bound you or any such nonsense, then I'll store you in a pokéball. You might think you're too good for me and my team to handle, but we'll beat you down. And then, I'll hand you over to the Rangers on the other side of the forest and they'll have you transferred to the Reserve with other rogue pokémon."

He ignored the lethal glare that the scyther sent back to him in return. "That was all, and now is your chance. So, _talk."_

* * *

**In a different part of Viridian Forest...**

"Honestly, I don't even see any point in continuing this pointless search. The forest is huge, and we've been traveling for over a day now. The growlithe has' probably escaped by now."

Travers shot a dry stare at his compatriot. "That is because if we are unsuccessful, they're going to have our hide. Didn't you hear what the Doc said? The warehouse had the first three successful experiments of Dr. Namba's project, under Admin Proton's direct supervision."

The other man paled, his lips trembling as he tried to digest the information. "Pr—proton?"

"Proton," Travers confirmed. For a significant majority of the Rocket grunts, the name Proton was synonymous with the devil. Notorious for his heavy-handed and ruthless approach to situations, Proton was called in as a last resort— not for damage control, but to ensure that the enemy were equally damaged. Like Cassidy loved to say— '_Proton is the equivalent to a rampaging dragon. He is not subtle. He is not nice. He is simply destruction on a primal level.'_

The fact that he had two fucking _hydreigon_ at his command spoke volumes in itself.

Travers had been present in the attack on Vermillion city some fifteen months ago. It had been a mission over acquiring some really sensitive shipment through the Vermillion harbor. Despite extensive planning and contingencies in place, the squad had found itself facing a group Ace trainers and Lt. Surge, right on the cargo deck, waiting for them to arrive. How the old veteran had found about the entire shipment, Travers would never know, but the situation had quickly devolved into a bloody mess. Over half of their team members had been severely injured, and several of their pokémon lost to Surge and his beast of an electivire. Even thinking about that mammoth made him shiver.

Then, Proton teleported in with his alakazam and joined the fight— if it could be called that. He had been in service to Team Rocket for two years now, though his skills mainly lay in covert activities than in direct combat. Before Proton's intervention, it had been a losing battle on the cargo ship, with the roof of the ship in tatters because of the high-powered attacks thrown around. By the time Proton and Surge had concluded their fight, the entire ship had detonated in a massive explosion, and several adjacent ships had been rendered unsalvageable. It had resulted in a draw, though it was obvious to any observer that Proton held a significant edge, and it had been his presence that allowed Travers and the rest to gather the cargo and teleport away.

Ever since that day, every single grunt and Executive went out of their way to avoid Proton if he was found to be in a bad mood. Then again, Proton was almost always in a bad mood. And the scary thing was, the more something angered him, the more focussed he got, and the more lethal he became.

That was also the day that he had ended up as Proton's student. How that had happened was a mystery, but he had been studying under the man's tender mercies for the last six months. And if there was one thing he learned, it was that being a subject of his interest was _never_ a good thing.

"Why would he be interested in a fucking growlithe?"

Travers sent a look of pity at his comrade. Meyers was pretty new, with less than six months of Grunt experience under his belt. Come to think of it, it was pretty surprising that someone so raw, was working for Dr. Namba, but then again, Meyers was pretty good at battling. Unlike Travers who relied extensively on traps and strategy, Meyers was a complete berserker, using raw firepower to bombard his opponent.

"It is a success from Project Nihilo. Is that good enough for you?"

Meyers grimaced. "Nihilo? I thought it was just a theoretical thing for the nerds at the Viridian base."

"It isn't," Travers shot back, "or well, it isn't ever since the doctor has taken over. We've got to capture this growlithe and bring it back alive. The doc clearly told us that under no conditions, can we allow it to go free. Worst case scenario, we put it down for good."

"Seems like a real special growlithe. I'd have expected something like this for a dragon or somethin'."

Travers sniffed. "The doctor played it down, but it seems like he wanted to surprise the Admin. He seems to think that the growlithe could become just as dangerous as one of Proton's hydreigon if not more."

"Bullshit." Meyers scoffed, "Are the both of us talking about the same pokémon? Those puppies need like three firestones at minimum to evolve, you know? Nobody wants an expensive fire-breathing bitch when you've got cooler things like a magmar or a charizard around."

Travers rolled his eyes. "That's out of our paygrade. Anyway, to answer your first question. I've already sent people out, flying above the forest and looking at the outskirts. As long as they don't see the growlithe leave, we operate under the assumption that it's still in the forest. We just need to keep searching."

"…sure." Meyers drawled.

* * *

Despite his obvious shortcomings as a human, Paul had been extremely diligent when it came to training and expected everyone to be at their best. In fact, he took it to the absolute extreme, considering that he himself trained beside his team, making the point that he expected nothing short of excellence from them in return. Also, unlike most other trainers, Paul had a singularly unique strategic point-of-view.

_Strengthen your strengths. Use them to cover your weakness. A battle must be fought on your own terms, not another's._

Paul had encouraged Scyther to fight against opponents where his skill would be of some use. According to him, Scyther was a sharp sword. There was no point in fighting a club-user with a sword. He'd use a club for that. Let the sword be used where it is optimal. Anything else would be retrogressive.

And so, Scyther had his movepool chosen accordingly. Moves that worked best for him. Moves that he'd be uniquely suited to use. Moves that he'd be able to utilize better than anyone.

The constriction knots had been good, and had Scyther been a wild pokémon, he'd probably stay bound forever unless the human took pity on him, or he swallowed his pride. But not Scyther. He saw the human standing in front of him, gloating as he made his _offer._

"That was all, and now is your chance. So… _talk!"_

_I will. _Scyther mentally sneered, as his wings glowed with a bright, silvery sheen. One moment they were tied to his back, and the next, they were glowing bright silver and not just that.

The wings began _vibrating. _At extreme speeds.

The human widened his eyes and acted immediately, out of instinct.

"GET AWAY!" He yelled and leaped backward. The creature he had introduced as a mawile, had not stopped to question her trainer's lead and jumped back as well— just in time to watch as the ropes snapped open as the wings were freed. The scyther was in the air, and though his arms were still tied.

_Something to take care of. _Scyther mused, lifting his arms upwards. The wings, enveloped in layers of steel energy, sheared through the ropes, bruising the skin around them. Scyther winced in pain, but pain was an old friend. Besides, bugs were quick to regenerate. Their ever-morphing bodies ensured that.

Without delay, he raised both scythes maliciously, sneering down at the human, who was staring at him from his half-crouched position, his mouth open in horror. Trust these humans to fall back to being the useless cowards that they were. Now that he was free, the human had rescinded to becoming a coward. Perhaps Scyther should have given the same treatment to Paul back then? It wouldn't be pretty, but it'd be strangely cathartic.

Scyther let out a wild screech and went in for the kill.

* * *

Skarmory had never really been one to sit on the sidelines. As the grandchild of a King ruling an entire mountain, she had always sorted her acquaintances into tiny boxes in her mind, with each box defining a particular form of relationship she shared with said individual. Most of the wild population back at the mountain were usually considered peasants, while the most powerful of each herd had the designation of chieftain in her mind.

Often, a new leader would arise amongst a herd, and try to overthrow the existing chieftain, in hopes of taking their place. Skarmory, from her exalted position, had always considered them petty amusements. After all, chieftains would come and go, but the Vortigern remained tall and mighty. And just like the gargantuan mountain, so did the Lord Vortigern.

Then, the foundations of her reality came crumbling down with her grandfather's demise. Sure, Skarmory was strong, very strong compared to most species that ruled the skies, but even so, the shadow of the Vortigern engulfed her. All her life as a youngling, she had been _happy _to learn from him, knowing that the throne was hers to rule in time. They had a few arguments over the concept of a _ruler, _but there was no doubt that Lord Vortigern was a great king.

Even so, it hadn't been enough. Even kings age and grow a little older with every passing day. Sometime prior to her thirteenth monsoon, the Vortigern had faced a fierce invasion from the surrounding mountains. Her grandfather had fiercely defended his home and the rest of the populace, but had found himself facing tribulations of a kind beyond his power to endure.

That was how the Lord Vortigern had breathed his last, upon a steep precipice, in a devastating battle against a most vicious rhyperior.

The young descendant to the mighty king had tried to defend her grandfather's authority, only to be met with overwhelming resistance. It had hurt, but the event had taught her something that the decade of grooming under her grandfather's tutelage had been unable to impart.

Skarmory had finally learned what it meant to _lose._

She was powerful, but not overwhelmingly so. She was a king by right, but not by her power. Certainly not like her grandfather had been. Vortigern was no longer hers to command, and it made her wonder— was this why her father, whom she had disdained for so long, left the mountain with a human. To grow stronger? Perhaps he had realized that staying on the mountain was simply not enough. He had likely seen the truth of the situation and left to grow to greater heights, while Skarmory had chosen to stagnate in the comfort of the shady cave.

It had been difficult. Very difficult.

But Skarmory wasn't someone who would allow herself to fail for the sake of false ego. Nay, she would grow stronger and overcome the situation through strength and steel. As it should be. Her grandfather's legacy demanded it.

"_You have a great destiny, bigger than the mountain. And to achieve it, you might have to travel past Vortigern itself…"_

Even today, her grandfather's somewhat prophetic words rang true in her ears. She would leave. She would grow stronger. And she would come back a conqueror.

Come to think of it, being under the control of a human trainer hadn't exactly been a bad experience. Of course, Skarmory still had trouble trying to see her human as a _trainer _and not a _retainer. _It was to be expected. She was a proud king, after all, and what was a king without vanity?

She might have been defeated, and she might have had to leave her kingdom. She might have had to seek out _humans, _but if that was what it took to be strong, Skarmory would accept it. The entire experience was probably sweetened by the fact that Red was extremely accommodating, and in time when she'd regain her throne, she'd give Red a nice little cave of his own. Right there, on the lofty heights of Vortigern.

He deserved that much.

That brought her to the current situation.

Her original notions about the Viridian Forest were based on the huge expanses of Vortigern. She had even pictured herself gliding through the forest, slaughtering prey, and perhaps facing the occasional challenge. The chieftains back on Vortigern were powerful, sure, but Skarmory was no slouch herself. As it was, she had yet to face something that had forced her to back off in defeat. So, it was quite obvious that her hopes had been dashed the moment reality sunk in.

Viridian Forest was massive, true, but it was dense with foliage. It looked like a place for terrestrials to jump around on trees. There was hardly any place for someone like herself to spread out her wings. She was grateful that at the very least, Red was rational enough to stop at prime locations that allowed her to spread her wings and glide about. Yes, she had chosen a worthy trainer, and in time, he'd reap the benefits of helping her.

Their current location had been the best one in that regard. There was no canopy above, allowing her to spread her wings. She belonged to the sky, and it felt good to be back.

Her retainer had done a marvelous job in capturing that impudent brat of a scyther through sheer wit.

Skarmory approved of it.

Even from her lofty position, her keen eyes allowed her to perceive the ongoing interaction with incredible clarity. Like any other self-respecting creature, Skarmory understood why the scyther might feel antagonistic towards her retainer, but for all intents and purposes, the impudent bug had shown the audacity to steal from her— _the King's —_food.

She refused to believe that someone born with natural scythes— even if they weren't cloaked in steel —could have trouble making prey out of the weaklings in the forest. That such a well-endowed creature would sink so low to steal from others made her sneer in disgust. If it was so strong, then it should have simply challenged Red for the food.

And then, the unexpected happened.

The scyther's wings began to glow bright silver before they started vibrating. Skarmory widened her eyes and swooped down towards the ground, where her trainer had fallen. The scyther raised one of its scythes ahead and was just about to impale her retainer.

_Not on my watch._

With incredible ferocity, Skarmory impaled her beak into the scyther from behind, right against its vibrating wings. The scyther screeched in pain as it felt her beak dig into its spine, and fell down to the ground, whimpering in pain. It almost raised a scythe in defiance, but she'd have none of it. She slashed her left wing against the raised scythe, deflecting it off without a care. Mission accomplished, she flew in front of the fallen brute and screeched.

"You fool! My trainer allowed you an option to grow stronger. To eat the very food, you prize so much. To serve under my own magnanimity, and you dare try and harm him?"

Scyther looked up, his countenance a picture of defiant rage. "He captured me and wanted to… This _human—" _His tone became hysterical. "This human is—"

'My trainer." Skarmory answered, her demeanor filled with pride. She had faith in her retainer, and would not accept anyone treating him with disregard. "My human trainer gave you an offer, more than what filth like you deserves. You steal my food, and then have the audacity to scream about the unfairness? You pathetic weakling—"

"I'm not _weak!" _Scyther roared in defiance, his scythes shining brightly, covered in steel energy. Ignoring the pain he must have been feeling from his injuries, he leaped towards Skarmory, slashing his scythe against her neck—

Only for the scythe to get trapped as Skarmory crooked her head, trapping the scythe in her neck without a care in the world. She grinned maliciously, and forced her hindlimbs forward, literally kicking the scyther in the abdomen. It screeched in pain, but Skarmory was far from done. Her beak glowed, gathering steel-energy, and without any second thoughts, she impaled the scythe trapped in the crook of her neck, causing the aggressive bug-type to screech in pain.

Scyther dropped down to the ground unceremoniously, but Skarmory was far from satisfied. Her claws sank into the scyther's left leg, and she soared above, taking her prey dangling with her. She heard Red yell out in concern, and allowed herself a grin. Trust her retainer to consider her safety over his own. The caterwauling bug kept squirming around, trying to break out of her grip, causing her claws to clench harder.

Once she felt she had reached high enough, she threw the scyther upward. Not high enough to kill it, but high enough to teach it a lesson. Instead, the presumptuous bastard shoved both of his scythes into Skarmory's abdomen.

The screeching sound that emanated after the attack did not belong to Skarmory. Instead, it was caused as the scythes, strong in their own right, slipped against Skarmory's metallic form, and bent in an odd direction, causing a sudden pain at its wrist.

The scyther cursed, gnashing his teeth, probably at his own ineffectiveness.

Then it glanced at Skarmory right in the eyes.

Skarmory grinned. Widely.

With a primal war cry, Skarmory felt her claws digging into the scyther, before she swooped down to the ground. There was no technique, no attack, no energy gathered. It was simply the power of gravity, and her own streamlined body shooting down towards the very crust itself, with the unfortunate scyther dangled in her claws. Skarmory plunged to the ground—ten feet, nine feet, eight feet— she descended without care. The scyther tried to slash its scythes against her form over and over, trying to escape its fate, trying to break out of her grip, but it was all in vain.

Skarmory spread her wings wide open, as she sent the scyther sprawling down to the ground, hearing the very satisfying sound of broken bones as it rolled and rumpled through the soil, before collapsing into a familiar and very much acceptable unconsciousness.

_Quality entertainment. _Skarmory mused.

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	12. Act 1 - Immolation | Chapter 12 - A Grunt's Life

**Two days later**

"Are you sure that is safe?" Misty asked in apparent calmness, though it was obvious that she was trying hard to not to freak out. After the disastrous turn of events post the interrogation, scyther had been a giant bruise all over. One of his scythes had been fractured, and both wings had suffered bone damage. The attack on its lower abdomen must have caused some fractures as well. Red had spent several hours creating one of his special Full Restore variants—aided by a not-so-enthusiastic Misty—for the poor brute who lay unconscious, half-buried in the ground.

After his impromptu treatment, Red had wasted no time in placing the unconscious beast inside his pokéball, which had 'dinged' instantly, verifying a successful capture. Misty had asked him if he was going to keep the scyther around and force him to become a member of his team, but that wasn't Red's way. Instead, he was going to give the pokéball to the Rangers on the other side of the forest.

That had been the idea, at least up until an hour ago. Said change, was in fact, the reason why Misty was panicking so much.

"Don't worry," Red answered. "He's not exactly in a position to cause further damage." He glanced at said offender, who was currently sitting on the ground, with a forlorn expression on his face.

Earlier in the morning, Skarmory and Mawile had requested, in their own way, that they should be allowed to speak to the scyther. The two pokémon had played their own variant of twenty-questions with him until they got the point across. Well, that or they had simply gotten tired of explaining and Skarmory had literally plucked the pokéball out from his waist with a jab, and Mawile, like the precocious little expert that she was, had released the bug from within the confines of the capture device. The scyther immediately tried to flee only to fall, realizing that his wings and his feet were not in any condition to assist him in that endeavor.

"But you were the one who told me how fast scyther were. Why aren't you worried at all?"

"Because I trust my team," Red replied without hesitation. "Skarmory has proved— several times now —that she can protect me," He crooked his head in the bug's direction. "They spoke to it, and while Mawile doesn't like scyther, Skarmory seems to have taken his stubbornness a little too personally." He ignored the squawk that Skarmory made to his comment. "They seem to believe that they can perhaps… convince him, I'll act accordingly."

"And you are happy to be led around by your pokémon's antics?"

The confused glance that he sent her should have been a signal. "I trust my team."

_Right. Then again, it's not unexpected._

"What?" The nigh clueless trainer asked.

"I was just _questioning _the logic behind keeping an antagonistic, not to mention incredibly fast bug on your person at all times." Misty snapped. "Are all pokémon trainers unhinged, or is it just you?"

Red shrugged, momentarily glancing at the scyther. "I can see where you're coming from, but something about that scyther… bugs me. I can't put a finger on it, so if Mawile and Skarmory are up to something, I want to see where it goes."

"Huh?" Misty replied eloquently.

"Those attacks he used. None of them are standard attacks learned naturally by the scyther line. Believe me, I checked," Red answered, "Most scyther end up abusing their speed and bladed body-physiology to remain uncontested in the wild. Nothing new about that. But a scyther learning Steel Wing? Naturally? Not to mention using that vibration technique to create those high-pitched noises?"

"What about it?"

"I checked it out," Red answered, raising his pokédex. "It's called Bug Buzz, and it creates sonic waves through vibration. Though, a scyther using it is remarkably… uncommon." He snorted. "I dare say it was inoculated via TM and train."

"It isn't someone else's pokémon too, you know. Unlike what happened with the growlithe, it showed a successful capture." Misty refuted.

"It did, which is why I don't think he's someone else's pokémon. I think…" He looked at his friend. "I think he's been abandoned."

"Abandoned?" Misty asked, her voice rising. Either her friend was so too good at deduction, or she was missing something. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Scyther are apex predators," Red answered. Though his tone made him seem like was talking to himself rather than to her. "And yet, it goes after cooked food? And then those moves, and that… that rage, I felt towards me, almost as if it were angry for me doing something to it, something… unforgivable."

"But… are you sure you aren't overthinking things?"

Red blinked. "Why is the concept of an abandoned pokémon so… _strange _to you?"

"Because it isn't a caterpie, or a pidgey or anything commonplace." Misty almost exploded. "I'm hardly an expert, but even _I can tell _you that _that pokémon _over there, is trained, powerful and dangerous. You'd have to be crazy to abandon something like that."

"I know…" Red muttered. He doesn't look like he has been abused, but… it's odd. Logically, I should simply report him to the rangers, but it didn't try to attack until we captured it. It stole food, true, but that's all. Does that sound like a vicious wild animal to you?"

"I get.." Misty ventured, "I get that you want to take care of it. But this is a scyther. It is _dangerous_."

"Yeah, but," Red finally seemed to find words for what he was feeling. "Someone like that doesn't deserve to be abandoned. It's strong and has the potential to become even stronger. The thought that someone can take a pokémon out of its home, push it to acquire such a diverse skill set, and then throw it away like yesterday's trash… It triggers me."

Misty sighed before giving up on the argument. Clearly a losing battle.

Neither of the two had any idea that a certain bug had been listening in to their conversation, a frown on his injured face.

* * *

The first three days had been an exercise in futility. It wasn't like Travers had been expecting anything else. As a senior grunt-captain, he had a team of six under his command instead of the usual three, though the doctor had added four more of his own guards to help him accomplish the mission. The grunts with flying-types had been ordered to maintain aerial surveillance over the entire forest. The rest were currently combing through the forest, actively searching for the fugitive.

It had sounded like a reasonable strategy back then. There was just one tiny problem.

He had overestimated his own patience and his ability to deal with Meyers.

For the nth time, Travers cursed his decision to keep the other man with himself instead of letting some other unfortunate sap take up the curse.

"—But seriously, you'd think that someone like Butch would be a little more high-and-mighty, ya know? It's like he's practically planning his retirement or something."

And he just. Never. Shut. Up.

Travers sighed again. He had been doing that a lot lately. "He's an Executive and one of the best. The fact that he's taking interest with the grunts means that something caught his eye. Stop being so obsessed over it."

"But still…"

On second thought, Travers noted, he should remember to put up Meyers's annoying tendencies up for review. It was… unprofessional. Unmanly too.

"Meyers, for the last time. Stop obsessing over Butch. He's not your Squadron leader. You are not under his Executive authority. You answer to Namba. Stop being such a fangirl," He raised a finger to stop the other man from retorting, "and I know how much you want a Magmortar, but no. Unless you manage to catch a wild magmar you might as well forget it. And that's assuming you can afford a magmarizer with your pitiful salary."

"But you know just how much I—"

"_Shut up!"_

"but I just—"

"_Shut. The. Fuck. Up," _Travers hissed, making the other man pause in his shenanigans. "Look," He pointed at the scene in front of him with two fingers, or more specifically, at the oddly colored growlithe sprawled on the ground.

"Do you think that's the one we're looking for?" Meyers asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the clearing in front of him.

Travers snorted. "Unless purple growlithe are common…"

Mayers opened his mouth.

"— Don't answer that. It was rhetorical."

There were two tents present, with two teens— one male and one female, and a group of pokémon. He could recognize the scyther sitting down on one side —an oddity but it didn't exactly register in his mind. There was a croconaw dozing in the corner, sitting with its back against the tent. A mawile and most importantly, a skarmory. And a little away from both of them, was the growlithe in question—dazzling white manes, the slight lavender-ish fur with dark brown stripes on its body, just like the camera recordings had shown.

_Croconaw and skarmory. Probably a Johto trainer. And a mawile? So the other one is from Hoenn then. That makes it difficult. Trainers from other regions are usually monitored._

"Engage in direct battle? What are your orders?" Meyers's voice shook him from his thoughts.

Travers frowned. He wasn't exactly someone who'd run head-first into battle, and preferred to do things covertly. There was simply no point in throwing up a ruckus and messing the entire point up. Perhaps he could have Ariados trap them first and then—

"I'll deal with them," Meyers stated conclusively. "Let's go. It'll be fun!"

"Wait we need to— goddammit!" Travers cursed, seeing the other man race ahead.

"Fuck," He cursed again, before stalking after him.

_There's always somebody about to ruin your day, if not your life._

* * *

Red was reaching his limit. The first week had been pushing, but at least they had progressed to a significant extent, capturing the pineco and the ledyba with ease. They hadn't been noticed by the pinsir herd and had ended up making camp in an open clearing, where they spent their time waiting for a venonat or two to appear.

A week had passed since then.

It hadn't gone as planned. Instead, they had been ambushed by a scyther strangely hell-bent on stealing their meals. One thing led to another and he had found himself with this odd-looking growlithe as well. One that was shiny too. And they still hadn't found a venonat.

Red sighed, his eyes moving across the clearing before settling on the growlithe.

_Strange._

Growlithe were creatures that were almost perpetually in motion. _As annoying as a growlithe _was practically an idiom back at home. But this one? It seemed content to lay low and observe him like he was an interesting specimen. Sure, it was injured, but most of its injuries had healed by the first day, and three more had passed since then. The runt should have been jumping around, and not be a brooding, observing, calculating thing. Occasionally it chatted with _Mawile _of all people, and on others, it sat and watched him with a peculiar expression. The aura of confusion on the creature was almost palpable. Call it instinct, but he almost felt like the growlithe was looking for _something, _and was getting more and more frustrated by its lack of appearance.

He had played with the idea of catching the growlithe for his own. Growlithe weren't exactly something one needed to _catch, _per se. Feed it a few times and it would probably follow you around for the next few months. Hell, it was harder to get rid of a pet growlithe than to catch it.

_Annoyingly loyal, _that's what they were.

Not that growlithe were bad captures. While their power reserves were lower than the average charmander, they were compensated with their high mobility. You'd never see one of them using Flamethrower, but Flame Charge was pretty common among the trained ones. The real problem though, lay in their evolution.

A charmander-in-training would normally evolve into a charizard by its second year. A ponyta was faster than growlithe would ever be. And plus, most of them evolved into rapidash, taking their speeds to extreme levels. Most growlithe, never really evolved into arcanine. Then again, knowing the beast that an arcanine was, it was almost fair to think that growlithe and arcanine were unrelated.

Spanning reserves at least thrice that of a charizard, a natural arcanine was an apex fire-type monster. They could outrun a rapidash any day, and their bulk was enough to allow them to utilize most physical attacks with ease. Arcanine were perfect, and just as rare. In fact, there were only three naturally-evolved arcanine in Kanto, as far as the official records— one of them belonged to Oak. Fire-master and ex-Elite Four Blaine had the second one. The third one's trainer had passed away and was now a resident of the Charicific Valley in Johto.

Nowadays, most arcanine evolutions were forced through a synthetic wonder known as a Fire Stone. It worked on principles similar to the Thunder Stone, and supplied a tremendous amount of fire-power into the growlithe, triggering its evolution. The issue was— not only did the growlithe need to be trained to be powerful enough to withstand the evolutionary process, it also required a minimum of three Fire Stones to evolve. This made them one of the most expensive evolutions known to mankind, and therefore, not economically feasible for the average trainer.

And therein lay the problem. As much as Red hated allowing a shiny pokémon like that walk away, there was very little he could do about it. He could not afford its evolution. Period.

_Perhaps I can send him to the old man. He'd be happy to study a shiny. And once I earn enough, I can always get him back. If I still have a place on my team for it._

That brought him to the other point— the scyther. He had to admit, whatever Skarmory and Mawile had told the bug, had _worked. _The scyther was sitting on the ground with a grumpy face, though it was clear from his body language that had no signs of hostility. In fact, it was almost like the scyther's emotions were dumbed down, replaced with something akin to sorrow. It didn't help but fuel his abandonment theory even more. Not that there was any way to confirm it. He liked his life too much to get himself killed in an attempt to talk with the bug-type.

But there was something else, something he hadn't really talked to Misty about. Silently, he lifted the Dex from his belt and looked at the log. The details were still there and would stay there until he updated it.

**Scyther, the mantis pokémon. Scyther is blindingly fast. Its blazing speed enhances the effectiveness of the twin scythes on its forearms. This pokémon's scythes are so effective, they can slice through thick logs in one wicked stroke.**

**Known moves: Fury Cutter, Bug Buzz, Steel Wing, Metal Claw, Agility and Night Slash.**

Night Slash, Agility and Steel Wing— those three moves stood out the most. Not because of their superiority, but because it was quite impossible for a scyther to learn those naturally. No scyther required those moves in the wild— it practically screamed human intervention. He had played with the idea that perhaps its trainer had perished in some kind of conflict, but if that was the case, scyther would still be listed as a captured pokémon. Which lead some more credit to his theory that it was abandoned and officially struck out from the trainer's roster.

He didn't know what to think about that.

The more pragmatic part of him did wish for the scyther to be a part of his team. Such a talented creature living off bugs was an insult to its ability. While the scyther's trainer may have abandoned it, Red was sure that he could turn it into a perfect monstrosity. Into something that would incite fear into the strongest of pokémon. Before that, however, he needed was to ensure its willingness to join his team.

_I wonder what Skarmory and Mawile talked to him about._

"Hmmm!" He got up, tired of his introspection. By his estimate, they were getting close to the periphery of the forest. They had yet to even see the other two in the list, and this place didn't seem like an ideal location anymore. Perhaps they should start traveling again. Maybe he'd have better luck elsewhere.

"Hey Misty," he called out at the girl who seemed engrossed in trying to perfect Shellder's pressure manipulation. While her initial attempts had ended up in vain, Red had to admit that she was _persistent_.

Between the two of them, Shellder had begun to gain some familiarity with the technique. All that remained now was to develop enough muscle memory to use it at a moment's notice, and Shellder would have an offensive move in its arsenal. Along with Double Team and Shellder's ability to leap, it was actually possible for Shellder to be of some use in battle.

"Yeah?" Misty responded, her hand still stroking Shellder.

"I think we should start off tomorrow morning for another spot. I don't think we'll get any venonat here."

"But then, how will we get one?"

"Heh!" Red chuckled, rubbing the back of his head, "I meant we can start looking in other places. It seems my idea didn't work out as expected."

Misty sighed. "This is such a drag."

"Unless you want to keep waiting inside this bug-filled forest for another week, it is the only available option on the table," Red chuckled again, "though I must say, you've been dealing with this entire bug-catching thing much better than I anticipated."

"Uh-huh? And what did you expect?"

Resting his chin over his left palm, he put up a thinking pose. "Oh, I don't know… hmmm, perhaps you'd have a caterpie falling on top of your shoulder, and you'd have sped off to the opposite side of the forest, screaming your lungs out."

Misty's forehead ticked. "Say that again?"

"Ah, ignore that," Red backpedaled, not wanting to experience her mood shifts again.

"Anyway, we should really start packing," He glanced at his watch. "Looks like it'll be evening in an hour. We should start out early tomorrow.."

"My, my, two little trainers all alone in the forest." An unfamiliar voice called out. "Do your parents know that you're having _fun _together?"

* * *

Red and Misty instantly turned towards the right and saw two unfamiliar people stepping towards them. Both of them wore military uniforms, similar to the ones used in the police force but lacking any seals or identity badges. The younger of the two, a man with unkempt white hair and black eyes, gave a mocking grin.

"What are you lovebirds doing in such a dangerous place. Wouldn't a park be a better place to hang out?"

Misty's face turned an unflattering red."What the hell are you babbling on about? Red and I are just— and who the hell are you anyway?"

"I'm Meyers," the white-haired man chuckled, "and this is my partner Tra—"

"I believe we should skip the introductions and get to the point." The other man— short, brown-haired with a forgettable face —interrupted him.

"Damn right," Meyers chortled. "He's always a bit fussy over covert rules and stuff. Anyway, don't get your panties in a twist, little lady."

He grinned at Misty, who seemed to get increasingly enraged by the second, "we don't wanna disturb you from whatever you've got going on in here." He paused, wagging his eyebrows at her, before eyeing the Skarmory with greedy eyes, "though I must say, you've got a good choice in pokémon. That Skarmory's worth a great deal. How 'bout a trade eh, kid?" He stared pointedly at Red. "I'll give you a fair price."

"Not interested." Red waved him off, his stance completely stiff. His instincts were screaming at him that he was in danger, reminding him of the time when Ritchie had attacked him in Pallet Forest. "Unless there's anything else…?"

"Easily miffed, ain'tcha?" Meyers chortled at his reaction. The other man muttered something back causing him to laugh out again. "Fine, to the point then. You see, we're looking for a growlithe— white manes, lavender-ish fur, a runaway from our… warehouse. Kinda like the one lazing about over there."

Said growlithe was already pushing itself up from the ground, readying itself to start running at the first chance.

"See? It recognized us." Meyers spoke again. "We need that back, and we'll leave you happy and free to.. Get back to whatever it is you were doing." Mayers wagged his eyebrows again, almost as if he was worried that they wouldn't get his point.

Misty blushed in embarrassment at the obvious implication, her expressions quickly flipping between a choleric gaze to open hostility. "What the hell are—?"

"Misty," Red beckoned in a sharp tone, his eyes never leaving the two men in front of him. Their dress codes reeked of history with the military, effectiveness over style and comfort. Probably some kind of goon-for-hire, from some criminal organization, if their behavior was of any indication.

"So kid, what do you say?" Meyers asked casually, extending his hand out. "Why don't you toss us the growithe. We may even reward you a bit. Good job finding him and all that"

"Not happening." Red retorted defiantly. Mawile, who had obviously understood the underlying tension in his voice, hopped up to his side and glared at the two men. Skarmory, on the other hand, was staring at them cooly, her sharp eyes in patient wait for any sudden movement that might count as a threat.

"Listen, kid," the brown-haired man addressed Red for the first time. "You might have caught this growlithe, but don't get so attached to things. It's just a fucking growlithe. You can find one on the streets. Fill that pokéball of yours with something that can actually earn its keep."

"Of course," Red replied evenly, his eyes locked on the brown-haired man. "But it's got a shock collar on it. Why did you put one on it?" He arched an eyebrow. "It's just a _growlithe, _after all."

"My God, are you fucking retarded?" Meyers took out a pokéball before tossing it in front of him. A humanoid creature wearing a shiny, metallic belt on its belt stood tall, flexing its biceps as a form of intimidation.

_A machoke, huh? _Red mused. _So negotiations have fallen. And now we turn to violence._

He casually made a nod towards Mawile who began to prepare an Iron Head.

The brown-haired man sighed before turning towards the other guy— Meyers, and nodded, before plucking out three pokéballs from his pocket. "Kid, I've been in this business when you were still in diapers. Believe me, this is only going to get worse from here."

Red considered the man's words. The pragmatic part of his mind did point out that he wouldn't gain anything from making a stand here. He did not owe the growlithe anything. Mawile might have hurt it, but he had healed it in return. He had given it good food, taken care of its problems—

He stilled.

"_...either way, don't try to run around. You need to get some rest, and we aren't going anywhere soon. Don't worry, worst comes to worst and that asshole returns, we'll protect you."_

He had promised growlithe that he'd help it. And believing in his words, the puppy had stayed with them.

_Fuck _Red cursed. _If I had just let it leave… If I hadn't seen it._

It was too late. If he let it go, he would probably be haunted with nightmares of the growlithe looking at him with its big upturned eyes. Steeling himself, he took a good look at the man in front of him. From his looks and words, the man was a veteran in his late twenties— probably more dangerous than anyone he had faced before.

He had managed face-off Ritchie and his team with just Mawile, even though he had gotten a little bit of unseen aid from Kaz. But back then, he was untrained and had no working relationship with his starter.

Things were different now.

_Skarmory can take hits with remarkable ease, and Mawile can manipulate the field. Maybe if they work together…._

He cursed himself from not training them to fight in teams. He'd need to look into that in the future. For now, he needed to somehow escape the present dilemma.

Obviously, relying on the growlithe was not an option. Scyther… was an anomaly, and it'd be better if he simply kept a wary eye at the bug. It had not attacked him so far, but there was no assuming that it wouldn't take advantage, should an opportunity present itself.

_If only the growlithe could be taken into the pokéball, we could make for a run using mist as a distraction. If it escapes on its own, then we can divide their attention, and probably defeat them._

He did a quick headcount. He had Mawile and Skarmory. Shellder was… effectively useless, unless it could act as bait or something. Misty had a starmie, which could be useful, but her croconaw was too sluggish to make an impact. On the other hand, the two men looked considerably experienced and their pokémon would be overwhelming in both quality and quantity. Giving up and running was the better option.

He glanced at the tense growlithe from the corner of his eye. _Why doesn't it just run away? At least that'd help…._

"Stalling wastes everyone's time, kid. Make a decision, or we'll make one for you." Meyers yelled. The machoke flexed its muscles again.

_Think fast… _Red told himself. He needed to stall some more, hoping the puppy would take a hint. "I… I found that growlithe in the wild." He continued looking around hoping to get some inspiration from his surroundings.

Misty, curse her, looked like she had seen a ghost, or worse, another crawling bug, and was imitating a rock. He allowed himself to take a moment to wonder how the girl had managed to survive so far by herself.

"What's your point?"

"It was bleeding, and injured, and I used a lot of my medicine on it." He glanced back, only to find the growlithe staring at him with something akin to shock in his eyes. "More importantly," he went on, "it's a _shiny, _and growlithe or not, that's rare. You want me to give away something like that for free?"

The brown-haired man crooked his head. "You want compensation, eh? You got balls, kid. I'll give you that. But consider this a lesson. _Don't get attached to things. _Forget it, and walk away. Learn to judge when something is worth it. You'll lose much more than just some medicines and a shiny."

"Damn straight," Meyers interjected supportively, laughing at the teen's attempts to appear strong and in control.

"You— you're Team Rocket, aren't you?" Misty suddenly spoke out of nowhere. Even Red was surprised at that revelation. This was Team Rocket? He had, of course, heard about the nefarious group of thugs, attacking civilian population from time to time, and robbing factories and industrial equipment.

"Looks like we're famous, Travers." Meyers laughed, ignoring the other man's scowl. 'Yeah girl, we're the big bad Team Rocket, and if you don't shut up and leave, it will be— actually, don't bother. We'll just take what we came for and leave."

"Meyers, stop wasting time," Travers said, shaking his head. "This is supposed to be the easy part."

"Right, just a second. So, what will it be?" Meyers turned towards Red, who seemed almost disappointed at them.

"Don't give me that creepy stare, kid." The man called out in indignation. "It creeps me out."

_Creepy stares are supposed to creep you out. _Red mused. "I'm not really experienced at such 'cloak and daggery' activities, but is there usually _this much talk?" _He pushed his left leg into the ground, kicking soil at growlithe, who still didn't get the memo—" like what the hell is something like Team Rocket doing with a growlithe? Shouldn't you be… fighting the League or something?"

"That one's got a big mouth on him, Travers. I'll shut—" Meyers began.

"Allow me," Travers interjected, gently shushing the other man. "Alright, enough conversation. To business."

"Good," Red replied agreeably, sending an eye-signal at Mawile, who nodded in acknowledgment. In less than a second, a Mist expanded outward from her surrounding the entire place. Between the dull white camouflage and the lack of sunlight, it was practically impenetrable, even for Skarmory's eyes.

Twisting his head, he glared at the growlithe and yelled, "and why the fuck aren't you _running _already?"

The growlithe blinked twice, before it hit him. It twisted its body around, began to leap off, away into the forest.

"Yeah," Red answered with a grin, facing the Rocket member, "now let's get down to business."

Travers sighed.

"Why doesn't anyone ever do things the easy way?"

* * *

"Capture the growlithe," Meyers commanded the machoke who leaped into the forest right behind the fleeing fire-type, leaving a swirl of dust in his wake.

_The things they make me do. And all for a goddamn growlithe._

"You've bitten off more than you can chew, kid. My machoke will capture that growlithe. All you've managed to do is waste our time. And we don't like people who waste our time." He grinned savagely.

"Why do you even think your machoke will catch it?." The teen asked.

"Feisty little thing, aren't cha?" Meyers clenched his jaw. Machoke were not known for their eyesight, and considering just how large the forest was, there was a high chance that the growlithe would evade him.

_Not on my watch, _Meyers cursed, bringing out an electronic device that looked like some kind of remote controller. He pressed one of the buttons and grinned wolfishly.

Further away, the growlithe let out a painful howl.

"Found it."

Smirking, he began to sprint in the approximate direction of the howl, leaving a perplexed Red Ketchum in his wake.

* * *

Red watched the man sprint past him, his mind locked in a deadlock. Knowing Mawile's shenanigans, and his own wretched luck, he had developed some basic eye-signals for Mawile to understand and act appropriately. Most of these were based around distractionary maneuvers. The Mist had served excellently, and for a moment, he thought that he had gained an upper hand.

And now, he was the one in a mental deadlock. The man had sprinted into the forest, and the machoke was already there. Chances were that the guy had multiple pokémon on his person, while growlithe was alone. His heart told him that he should run after him, but his mind pointed out that it would leave Misty alone with the other guy.

He glanced at Croconaw, and then at the pokéball in Misty's hands, and then back towards Croconaw. Making a decision, he turned towards the avian in the air, and yelled out, "Skarmory, keep them busy for a while, will you?"

Skarmory nodded before moving to stand in front of Red. The regal avian crooked her head, staring at the other man, and the ariados next to him calculatingly.

Misty though, seemed both perplexed and exasperated at his decision. "Red, use your head," she yelled, "those are experienced _criminals_. That man can kill you!"

"Only if I die!" Red countered back as he sprinted into the forest, with Mawile following swiftly behind.

Misty's eye twitched.

"Yes," She almost roared, "that's what _killing you _means."

* * *

As someone who had always chosen the coldness of pragmatism over the warmth of blind hope, Growlithe was never a believer in fate. It was simpler for him. What he wanted, and what happened, depended upon several variables, and the result was the solution called life. Most events could be shaped by factors that were mostly susceptible to change when considered the right way. Escaping was a matter of deliberate planning and choice, and it had worked. Sure, he had not considered the mawile's intervention, nor the manner in which it would cause a wrench in his plans, but it was something beyond his control. His interactions with Red and the rest after getting healed were anything but that.

The restore potions had been a lifesaver. Growlithe had always known about his insane regeneration capacity, and constant exposure to electrical shocks had taught him how to redirect the regeneration to function out of order, depending on what he needed first. It was dangerous, but it had always been his ace in the hole, and something he had kept secret from everyone so far. The restoration potions had substantially boosted his abnormal regenerative powers to new heights healing almost everything about him. Sure, his legs were still frail and he would need a lot of physical activity before he could run like an ordinary growlithe, but it was better than it ever was.

And that brought him to the current scenario.

He had instantly recognized the two men from their military uniforms since the ones at the lab wore something similar. The fact they were staring at him kind of made it obvious. Growlithe's original plan was to flee into the forest, but knowing those men, it would probably be an exercise in futility. Speed wasn't his forte, analysis and planning was. That, and his ability to regurgitate acid. And so, he stayed silent and watched the two men banter with Red.

He had heard Red state out a myriad number of reasons for standing against the two men, but frankly, his reasons weren't in tune with what Growlithe knew about the teen from his personal observations. The teen hadn't made the slightest move towards capturing him. Instead, he had fed him thrice a day, and added more nutrient potions to bolster his regeneration. And not just him, but the scyther as well, despite the unusually disdainful and grumpy nature that the bug displayed.

Red was strange, but he was a good kind of strange. And if Growlithe had to choose, he'd probably stick to his chances with this human than anything else. At least, it would get him out of this forest, and give him some exposure to the world outside. Worst came to worst; he could always escape. He had escaped the prison, so escaping from the new human should be no different.

_What do I do now?_

Morality would probably indicate that he'd stand on Red's side and fight off against the two men that wanted to capture him, but Growlithe hadn't survived all this time by being moral. The scyther would probably take the opportunity to escape. Mawile… was quick on her feet, but not a runner. There was a time and place for her talents and this was not it. Red was stupidly naive and moral, so he would probably get eaten somewhere. Taking advantage of the situation was the pragmatic thing to do.

It was hardly personal.

The real question would be the aftermath of that choice. Should he abandon Red, there was a high chance that Red and his company might drop their defensive stance, and allow the men-in-black to chase after him. Growlithe knew that he couldn't outrun them, and all it would take would be a single hit to render him incapacitated. And when that happened, there would be no one to come and save him.

And then Red twisted his neck and yelled, "and why the fuck aren't you _running _already?"

Had Growlithe been a lesser creature, he'd have probably broken down into tears at such an open display of pure-hearted behavior. Fortunately, he was not, and knew when to take advantage of such emotional responses. He saw the mist envelope the area, and _almost _woofed in joy. Jumping off the ground, he turned tail and raced into the forest— weak legs be damned.

_I'm going to make it! Finally!_

Growlithe made a silent prayer for the human as he continued to run. Maybe all humans weren't as bad as he tho—

And then out of nowhere, he felt _pain._

The shock-collar activated, and several hundred volts of electricity penetrated his skin. His muscles spasmed and Growlithe skidded into the ground, bruising his forelimbs as he sagged into the grassy floor. It was fortunate that he was no stranger to pain, or he would be unable to think. It _hurt _that much.

He felt his regeneration kick in, numbing the paralytic effect of the electrocution, and dulling the pain.

_I'm no longer mobile, so fleeing is just a slow death. A battle it is then._

Growlithe knelt in a crouch, allowing his weight to rest on his hindlimbs. From the vibrations on the forest floor, it was obvious that something large and heavy was quickly approaching him. His maw shut and ready with an attack, Growlithe calmly waited for his assailant to arrive.

He felt the boisterous machoke appear before he even saw it, grunting in its throaty voice, as it jogged towards him. Clearly, any concept of subtlety was lost on this muscle-for-brains. For a moment, Growlithe entertained a silly thought about his own species. Were _normal _growlithe air-heads too, because they thought with their legs instead of their brains?

The machoke had seemingly located him and was currently aiming a hard punch at Growlithe's abdomen. Considering his own frail self, Growlithe was sure that a single punch would put him down.

_Wait for it._

Right when the punch was about to land, growlithe put all his strength into his hindlimbs and leaped. Right onto the hand that was about to pulverize him. For a second he looked up at the obviously confused pokémon. Right in the eye.

And then Growlithe smiled.

_Eat Acid Smog, bitch._

He opened his mouth and doused the unfortunate creature with as potent a version of his Acid Smog as he could possibly produce.

Right in the face.

The machoke hissed in pain, as the corrosive vapors gnawed at his flesh, eating their way through it. Never one to waste an opportunity, Growlithe bared his fangs and tore through the very hand he was clinging on, his sharp fangs, lined with corrosive acid, tearing and burning their way through flesh. The machoke tried to grapple him, but he had already lost most of the mobility in his arm. And it didn't seem to be able to make its own decisions under pain.

_Stupid thing._

The last thing it saw was the bared fangs of its _prey _approach its throat.

* * *

_I fucking hate this._

It was almost funny. One moment he had charged ahead into the dense forest intent on capturing the growlithe. Doctor Namba had been rather insistent that the growlithe must be caught alive, and only in the worst-case scenario was that he was allowed to kill it. Obviously, the worst-case scenario involved coming across a Ranger Squad, and Meyers was sure that encountering a bunch of rookies did not qualify. Besides, with machoke already on the growlithe's trail, he'd probably be back at the base before midnight.

Now though…. He didn't feel as confident as before. The entire place was damp and dark. The mist had certainly not helped, and with the dense outgrowth all around, it was slowly bordering along the lines of discomfort. He couldn't even hear the soft thumping of his machoke's feet.

_Probably gone far away. Did the growlithe really run that far off?_

Doctor Namba had been quite particular. The growlithe was precious. It could spew acid from its mouth, and was quick to regenerate from bruises. There was nothing in the description about its vulnerability, or lack thereof, as far as electrical shocks were concerned. Besides, it wasn't used to constant running, so it would probably try to hide somewhere.

_I'm beginning to hate myself for not bringing the poochyena._

"**CHWO - OKE!"**

Meyers stiffened. That was his machoke's voice. No, that was Machoke screaming. In pain. A shiver ran down Meyer's spine, the eerie silence that dragged on after the sudden scream giving rise to an odd feeling in his stomach.

Fear.

"Machoke? Machoke, are you all right?" Meyers yelled.

Silence.

"Ma— Machoke did you get it?" He tried again.

…

There was no sound of feet stampeding upon the grassy floor. There were throaty grunts, no sound of the branches being pushed by something large walking through them. There were no bugs buzzing in the dark, nor anything else that gave any semblance of life.

Just the grim darkness, and the silent rustling of the surrounding trees.

"Shameful!" He muttered, "being afraid of the dark."

His left hand reached into his waist, and took out a pokéball, releasing the beast within. The white, bipedal feline that stood before him was visible despite the lack of illumination. Then again, zangoose fur contained some kind of phosphorescent compound, that emanated a soft glow in the dark. Something about allowing the offspring to spot their parents in the night.

The zangoose let out a low growl.

"It's me," Meyers established his presence with his voice. "Stay sharp. Attack anything that moves. "

Inwardly, he was wishing that he hadn't entered into such an obscure zone, but returning empty-handed would speak ill of his prowess.

The zangoose growled a second time.

"What is it? Do you sense something?"

The feline wagged its jagged tail upwards, sniffing around like the very growlithe it was there to catch, before signaling towards the right.

_Yes, this will do._

With soft steps, Meyers walked ahead, taking care not to produce any sudden noises. There, roughly four meters ahead, stood the precocious teen, with his mawile standing right beside him. With the way the creature was glowing in the darkness, he presumed that it had some modicum of control over the Flash technique.

_Mawile are deceptive, and this one looks trained._

"Zangoose," He whispered, "get close and use Night Slash. Target the abdomen."

Zangoose shook his head towards the teenager.

"Incapacitate him if necessary. Try not to kill anything, especially the mawile."

The feline nodded, before leaping into the darkness. Meyers could feel the rush of adrenaline pumping into his veins, invigorating him. Regardless of whether he might catch the growlithe, he was not letting the teen go without paying for his obstinacy. His eyes shone with a slight hint of malice, as he sensed the zangoose leap from branch to branch in near silence.

_Time to hunt._

* * *

**Meanwhile**

Travers stood on the spot patiently, a lackadaisical expression on his face as he waited for the mist to slowly disperse away. This wasn't normal mist and would dissipate with the departure of the caster— in this case, the mawile. Truth be told, he was rather surprised that a _mawile _of all things, held this level of affinity with ice. The little tricksters were rather devious, and this one's trainer seemed to enhance its capriciousness.

He glanced at the skarmory maintaining a keen eye over his own movements. Beside him, his faithful ariados stood guard. Should the need arise, the ariados could very well engage the steel avian for a while. More than enough time for him to release his _other _pokémon. As a grunt captain, it was his duty to keep a team of six on his person at all times, but he had gotten a little… overboard with his recent training, which was why he was currently down to four. But it didn't matter—his _other _pokémon was more than capable of ending the fight immediately.

_I seriously hope that it doesn't come to that. These are pretty green trainers after all._

"Aren't you going to attack me?" The orangette asked.

Travers arched an eyebrow. "Do you want me to?"

He passed a second glance at the avian in the air and arched his hands over his head. "Meyers has gone in, and he'll be out with the growlithe soon enough. I have no reason to fight you."

Misty folded her arms over her chest. "Red's gone in there too. He'll stop your…"

"Meyers," He supplied helpfully. "And I wouldn't be so sure of it. Unlike me, Meyers is a hands-on kind of guy. It's almost ironic, since your boyfriend—"

"Red's not my _boyfriend!"_

"Indeed?" Travers frowned. "Off-putting. You seem like a hands-on kind of girl. Your friend— Red was it? He's more… like me. I noticed his stalling tactic. Too bad that the growlithe lacked the facilities to understand his words and run away. Five more seconds of the Mist could have facilitated his escape better."

The orangette gritted her teeth in annoyance.

"Are you…. Are you looking down on me? I have pokémon too, in case you are getting any ideas." Misty replied irately.

"Do I seem to give that impression? Forgive me. I'm more of a… reconnaissance kinda person. Observing army personnel, deceiving targets and taking them out, that kind of thing. More of the 'cloak and daggery' kind of activities that your friend was talking about. Speaking of which, _daggery _isn't an actual word."

"Stop rambling." Misty almost rebuked him, before her expression changed. Probably, the girl had just realized how stupid it was. "Why are you after that growlithe? Even for its _shiny-ness, _it cannot be worth so much as to send goons after it."

Travers laughed at that. "Now, now, mind your manners. That is what separates us cultured people from.. goons did you say? As for your question, that growlithe is… _special. _It's unfortunate your boyfriend decided to poké his—"

"Red's _not _my boyfriend!" Misty hissed vehemently.

"You really have quite a pair of lungs on you." He sighed. "I should have left Meyers with you."

The girl remained in place, as he glanced in the direction his friend had sprinted off. "I really hope he finishes quickly. Speaking of which," he turned towards Misty, "you shouldn't hope for your friend's safe return. More so, if he continues to fight."

"Just shut your trap." Misty hollered. "I— I'll fight if I have to."

"No thank you," Travers calmly sat down on the grassy floor. "Fighting a greenie is no fun at all. I'll wait till either of them shows up."

* * *

**Back Inside…**

Growlithe pushed himself off the ground, his claws still sunk into the machoke's flesh. He had just bitten into its muscular shoulder, tearing it off from the rest of its body. It felt good. Hunting a strong creature, feasting upon it, even when facing a battle of survival was… exhilarating. It woke up something primal inside him— something had emerged from its shadowy cave, never to return to the shadows.

His red eyes emanated a sinister glow.

From the sounds, he knew there were others nearby. The sounds of footsteps and the agitated branches were enough of a clue that there was a tree-dweller around.

_Probably not a water-type. Flames it is, then. I cannot match its speed, but what if it runs out of branches?_

Worst-case scenario—he'd be caught in a forest fire. No big deal. He could absorb flames just fine. The same wasn't true for humans, nor the tree-dweller. Besides, the orangette had two water-types, but he doubted even those two would be powerful enough to bring a forest fire under control. Not to mention Red was—

Growlithe cursed. Apparently, the first example of _nice behavior _had woken up some of the growlithe-genes within him. There was simply no other explanation of why he felt beholden to a human of all things. Even from this distance, he could see the mawile glowing like a torch in the darkness. For someone that claimed to be the exemplar of subtlety and trickery, it was uncertain as to why she was glowing like a flashlight in the dark.

_Oh right._

_Red._

Growlithe sensed the other predator leap off to the next branch. It was quick— he'd give it that much —but Mawile could deal with it. Currently, his senses were drawing him towards a different scent. One that he was familiar with back in the lab. One that was human.

Though this time would be different. This time, _he _would be the predator.

And the human would be his prey.

* * *

The moment they had entered the ever-growing darkness of the forest, Mawile patted herself on the back for allowing Red to get her started on Iron Defense. Similar to Flash, the layer of steel energy emanated a soft glow in the darkness, enough to cover a wider range without the immense luminosity. It was exactly what she needed to give herself visibility in this forest.

It was also what made her a target.

"Mawile, do you hear that?" Red asked her, his fingers tightening around a sharp twig. Mawile wondered where he had picked that one.

She jerked her head. She wasn't a nocturnal creature, and as such, she was at a disadvantage. Whatever was around her, was clearly laying a trap. Neither she nor Red could fight in the darkness.

_This is going to be difficult._

"Ready your Iron Head, and use diversionary tactic F," Red prompted. Mawile widened her eyes at that. Yep, that one could be of some use, especially with the darkness in the forest. Her present condition would only reinforce it.

She allowed a small smirk grace her lips.

The creature in the darkness rushed from the branch to her right into the sky, before leaping into the left. Mawile felt that she saw a reddish glint before a large shadow rose up from her behind. She sensed Red clenched the twig in his hand, ready to wave it over as a defense, and felt the creature draw near her.

She let go.

And the world was inundated with blinding light.

* * *

Meyers brought his hands in front of his face, shutting his eyes tight as blinding light exploded in the middle of the darkness. He had been ready to watch the zangoose bring the teen and his mawile down when that little explosion had ruined his plans. Zangoose could function in both daylight and darkness, but it took them a while to get adjusted to either extreme.

The mawile really couldn't have timed the Flash better. The zangoose hissed, and lost its control, dropping to the forest floor, rubbing its eyes.

_Shit. I need to run damage control. Now._

His fingers clenched the next pokéball on his waist, ready to throw his next battler out to play. Yes, Arbok was exactly what he needed to control the situation. On second thought, he probably shouldn't have sent the zangoose out in the first place.

_That, and Arbok makes me uncomfortable. _He mused to himself, raising the pokéball that contained the vicious serpent—

And a pair of vicious claws came out of nowhere and _slashed _at him_. _Meyers paused for a moment before he slowly turned to look down at the stump that used to be his arm. For a moment, he couldn't understand what had happened.

_Is that… my hand?_

His entire body felt numb. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. Meyers moved as if possessed as he slowly bent down moving closer and closer to the arm on the floor. His mind started feeling clearer as the numbness started fading.

_I— I was attacked? What hit m—_

And then Meyers knew pain.

* * *

_This is… surprisingly simple. _Growlithe mused to himself, his padded paws silencing his movement. His legs were weak, so while he couldn't run fast, he could be stealthy. Here, in the darkness of the forest, it was his stealth that was becoming his weapon.

_Interesting. Every single day of freedom teaches me something new about myself._

Back at the prison, the only thing he had was pain. Pain meant that he was alive, that he drew breath, and that he had lasted another day. Pain meant that the deathmatch was on, or over. Pain meant the embrace of sweet, dreamless sleep, of freedom, of a world away from these white-walls, a world where he could live a happy life. Pain meant the start of a new struggle that would bring him one step closer to the freedom he demanded.

That was until he had escaped the prison, and stepped into this eternally-large forest.

The feeling of soft, raw flesh of the tangela had been… _exhilarating_. Growlithe was no stranger to meat, but eating warm flesh, with blood trickling out of the tissues while he feasted on it was incomparable. It was nothing like the cold loaves of meat that the prison guards had pushed into his cage two times a day. But while the tangela had been an unsuspecting prey, the machoke had been a predator, and just some moments ago, he had torn into him with a viciousness Growlithe didn't know he had.

It felt good. Very good. His primal instincts begged for more. And Growlithe was only too happy to oblige.

The human—Meyers or whatever, seemed afraid. Growlithe could almost sense the fear in him, but he wanted more. He wanted to taste it. Those men-in-black were always the ones with the weapon, whether it be through the damned collar on his neck, or through those steel rods that electrocuted him upon contact.

Oh, how he hated them.

He saw the deceiving little trickster explode out into bright light, catching the feline off-guard. Even Red was holding a stick—Growlithe almost chuckled at the sight. To think that the human thought that a stick would keep him alive. Red was naive, but he was a good kind of naive.

He considered Meyers again.

He saw the man's fingers reach into his waist, and bring out a second pokéball. Another mindless creature perhaps? Ready to serve its torturer until death took them apart? Mawile he could understand—benefits of a naive and less-heartless master. But them?

_Disgraceful. Perhaps a life of freedom in the world has made freedom seem… less in their eyes. Is that why they are confined to mindless beasts that cannot move without their master's command?_

That would not do. Growlithe wanted to hunt, wanted the prey to fight back.

He glanced at Meyers again.

And hunt he would.

Without preamble, the canine leaped towards the unsuspecting man, claws drenched with corrosive acid, and brought it down on him, ripping off the portion below the elbow. The cut wasn't clean by any means, with broken bones and torn tissue latching against the upper fragment. The rest of it unceremoniously landed into the grass, the pokéball flung away unused.

Growlithe watched his tormentor stumble around. He seemed to be completely ignoring his own injury.

_Do humans not feel pain?_

Come to think of it, he had never actually seen a human get injured before.

And then Meyers screamed.

Growlithe watched in bemusement as his prey let out one howl after another, before collapsing onto the floor, still cradling the injured stump that remained attached to his shoulder.

His eyes met Meyers's own.

_I can almost smell his fear._

The retracted claws stretched out, as a single paw dug into the man's chest. For that moment, Meyers was no mere human. Rather, he was a representation of _all_ the humans that had ever hurt him— the ones that imprisoned him and kept him captive. The ones that performed experiments on him regardless of the suffering and torment it caused him. For every broken bone, for every single time Growlithe had to suffer in silence—

_No longer._

This was his tormentor, and today, he would be his _prey._

_I could get used to this._

Growlithe's eyes glowed in the color of blood, and he tore towards the man's neck, as Meyers released a gut-wrenching scream.

* * *

The feline was already in motion before Mawile's jaw slammed into the ground.

She was fast. Quite fast, Red noted. But the feline was faster. Using Flash had been a good idea, even if it did blind her momentarily. By the time his eyes had readjusted to the dark, Mawile was already airborne, aiming for the white feline on the floor.

She ended up missing, by several inches in fact, as the creature latched onto the nearest trunk, before leaping onto the next branch. He couldn't see Meyers, so the pokémon was probably running on instinct.

_If only I could scan it. What are the chances of encountering a non-native here of all places? I really need to look into the non-Kanto natives the next chance I get. For now..._

"Mawile, aerial countermeasures."

The deceiver pokémon nodded, taking the offensive. The white feline snarled and leaped down towards Mawile again, its long, sharp claws coated with tendrils of darkness. Something feral shone in the feline's eyes as it snarled in fury before pouncing at Mawile from atop a branch.

_That has to be Night Slash. Is this some kind of dark-type?_

He didn't know a lot about dark-types or their move sets other than the common Bite, and its evolved and infinitely more dangerous version— Crunch. He _had _come across Night Slash while reading about Bite. It had been nothing short of fascinating.

Despite being a physical attack, a dark-type move didn't rely upon causing maximum damage at first strike. Instead, it focussed on transferring some of those black tendrils into the victim upon impact. That accomplished, the victim would show increasing signs of sluggishness and disorientation. And these attacks could stack over time, with each move draining the targets stamina and reserves. Once the victim had wasted itself away, the dark-type would pounce upon it.

Night Slash, Bite, Crunch—they came in different variations and methods, but the underlying principle was always the same. An injection of those tendrils— or Dark Energy in layman terms and the rest was history. It was what made Dark-types so utterly dangerous. It was also what gave them the reputation of being _evil._

"Mawile, it is about time!" Red yelled, hoping she'd catch the urgency in his voice, "don't let it hit."

Thankfully, his starter obliged without a second thought. She instantly dropped the Iron Head she was preparing, and launched her open jaw into the air, liberating a wave of electrified energy.

The Thunder Wave tore through the space between them, catching the feline off guard. The white creature spasmed mid-air, before unceremoniously dropping to the floor. Even so, one of its sharp claws did manage to scratch past Mawile's jaw and draw blood below her left shoulder. It was a tiny cut, easily treatable, but it _had caused her to bleed, _and some of the darkness from its claws had passed through.

Mawile hissed in pain, and answered it in the only way she knew how.

With Iron Head.

Which, quite unfortunately for the feline, landed straight on its head.

* * *

Meyers tried to calm himself by breathing in deeply. It did not help. The air almost refused to enter his lungs.

_What is happening?_

A slightly metallic taste filled his mouth as he coughed.

_Blood._ He realized_. My own._

Mayers gathered whatever little strength he could and began to edge away from the creature stalking him. This was no growlithe. This was a predator and it was slowly walking towards him, clearly enjoying his suffering. A muted scream left his throat before he felt padded feet land upon his chest.

Meyers shivered, fully expecting to die.

_Is this how it ends?_

He slowly closed his eyes, not wanting to watch the growlithe deal the final blow. It never came. Instead, something _slammed _into the beast, leaving a loud hissing sound in its wake. After what seemed like an eternity, he slowly peered his eyes open.

_I'm— I'm not dead?_

His Arbok had somehow released itself from the pokéball during the entire event, and had attacked the monster—he refused to call that thing a growlithe —with extreme prejudice.

"Arbok!" Meyers breathed fearfully, as his eyes met the malevolent stare of the serpent beside him. Arbok had always been an oddball, and he couldn't really claim to have any control over it. It reeked of killing intent, and for a moment, Meyers wondered if he had simply chosen one torturous death over another.

A moment later, the arbok lunged forward, Meyers almost let out a scream— for one horrifying moment, he thought the Arbok was charging at him —but to his elation, the vicious serpent simply slithered over his body, _impressing _its massive weight on his form, before lunging at the canine, who bared his fangs and dodged the attack. Arbok slammed into a tree trunk, smashing the trunk into several pieces, before sweeping it off the ground with a lash of its tail, and bared its fangs.

Drip.

The sound of deadly venom dripping off its fangs was distinct. He had seen a taurus die within five minutes of being bitten.

Meyers felt his vision fade as the sheer agony overpowered his senses. It hurt so goddamn much that he just wanted to fall unconscious. He slapped himself. Hard. He needed to stay awake. He couldn't afford to lose control, not if he wanted to survive.

"Get him!" The words started out as an order but ended up as a slurred plea. "Wrap that bastard up—" The rest of his words jumbled as a particularly bad jolt of pain ripped through his body. Mayers felt himself fading into the darkness.

_Focus on the pain,_ he told himself. _Pain is good. Means you're still alive._

The serpent hissed savagely, flaring its hood outwards. The strange patterns on its belly shone in the darkness, and for once, the growlithe seemed transfixed with fear. Meyers could hear it whimpering in the darkness.

_This might be my chance, _Meyers thought to himself. Ignoring the jolts of agony that came with the slightest movement. The growlithe was engaged, and he probably wouldn't get another opportunity. He needed to escape. The world could go to hell, but he needed—

Disorientation gripped his mind before another pang of agony brought him back.

He needed to escape, and he—

He froze as he felt something hit his other hand. It was the controller, the one that manipulated the growlithe's shock collar. He had imagined that a single electrocution would render it paralyzed for hours, and as such, had returned it to his pocket.

Meyers saw the growlithe leap onto his arbok from above.

A cruel smile etched itself on Meyers' face. He had lost an arm to the canine, and he'd be damned if the growlithe didn't suffer for it.

Snarling, he pressed the button.

* * *

**Zangoose, the cat-ferret pokémon. Zangoose usually stays on all fours, but when angered, it gets up on its hind legs and extends its claws. This pokémon shares a bitter rivalry with seviper that dates back over generations.**

"A zangoose, huh?" Red muttered, scanning the unconscious pokémon on the floor. Mawile was currently inspecting it, and while he had pretended not to notice, she had actually slammed her jaw on its face and back twice after its initial incapacitation. For once, he didn't comment on her violence. This creature had come at them with the intent to maim, if not kill.

"Does it still hurt?"

Mawile hissed, almost as if the mere memory of the little wound was causing her pain. Red smiled gently, before pulling her into his arms, causing the little thing to coo into his chest in elation.

"I doubt we'll be able to find growlithe or that ass—"

An inhuman scream hit his ears.

_Meyers._

He seemed to be in danger and Red _certainly _did not want to get mixed up in it. The forest was filled with monstrous creatures after all. Clutching Mawile tightly in his arms, he ran into the darkness, hoping he was getting closer to the tent—

And fell on the ground face-first.

He groaned as his hands slid across the ground.

_Why is it so slippery?_

He rubbed his fingers together, feeling an unusual greasiness.

"What is this?" He wondered, "Mawile, can you Flash?"

Mawile did so, without hesitation—

Red nearly threw up in horror.

Blood. So much blood. And it was _everywhere_.

He stared at his red-stained hands as another wave of nausea washed over him.

The body— if it could be called that— was barely recognizable. Less than a quarter of the face remained. The rest had been hacked and ripped apart brutally. Turned out that the thing he had slipped over was actually an eye socket that had rolled further away from the body, and was now inches away from his legs, with dark red blood pooling all around it, already blackening.

Panicking, he threw his legs outward, kicking the eyeball away from him. Pushing himself back into a bush, he lost all control before throwing up.

Even Mawile looked nauseous.

He could hardly keep himself from shaking in utter horror. Mawile moved towards him, ignoring the brutality on the floor, and slowly rubbed her head against his chest. A part of him felt a tiny bit of solace in that comfort. Clenching her closer, he slowly backed away, compulsively shutting his eyes in attempts to remove the image from his eyes.

"What—what could have—?"

It didn't help. If anything, the image of the mutilated pokémon kept reinforcing itself every time he closed his eyes.

"What could have done—do you, do you think—" Red's eyes widened in recognition as he went on, "Growlithe? Then… do you think that this is the machoke?"

Mawile shrugged her head. Growlithe were canines, so it was quite possible for them to hack and rip into their prey. That said, even she agreed that this particular specimen had been rather vicious in its methods.

"Let's— let's go," Red shook his head vigorously, not wanting to think about the matter for too long. He needed to get out of this forest as quickly as he could.

* * *

Meyers watched the growlithe gnash its teeth in agony, as electricity jolted through its nerves. The canine had just leaped over the serpent to strike from above, only for the timely electrocution to make it lose its coordination and unceremoniously drop to the forest floor.

_Four times! That shit's gonna be deader than dead when I'm fucking done with it._

"Crush it, Arbok. Make it suffer" Meyers grinned maliciously, before coughing up blood.

He somehow managed to pull out one of the syringes from his waist pocket, all the while biting into his tongue to keep himself from screaming his lungs out. Pain endurance was a fundamental part of his training regimen, as was knowledge of basic first-aid in an emergency situation. Granted, this took the concept of a _first-aid _to an extreme, so he'd have to make do with what he had. Tearing off the cap, he plunged the syringe into the remaining stump that was his arm.

Not wasting time, he pulled out a pair of capsules and swallowed them. These were painkiller-pills, containing potent analgesics as well as nutrients, and were specifically engineered by the League for their Ace Corps. It was a good thing that Team Rocket had its roots deep inside the bureaucracy.

_Mind's going on tangents. I've lost too much blood. Need help._

Without preamble, he lifted his head and— "ARGH!"

Something shoved into him from behind, sending him flailing down to the ground. Right onto his injured arm, letting out another grunt of pain. The anesthesia was working, but it wasn't there yet. Somehow he managed to turn over, ignoring the mess that was his arm, to look up.

_The kid?_

"What the fuck do you—?" he screamed another jolt of pain hit him.

"Sorry," The teen muttered, "I meant to say stop, but I punched you instead."

He saw the teen momentarily wince at his amputated stump before a furious hiss from Arbok attracted his attention. The mawile had ripped into Arbok's abdomen from behind while it was coiling around the growlithe, and slowly crushing it to death. The growlithe had nearly succumbed to the pain, and he would have thought it dead if not for the slight twitches every now and then.

The sudden attack had the arbok screeching in agony, and it had instantly released its prey. True to its viciousness, the mawile kept slamming its jaw over the freshly mutilated region, causing Arbok to hiss in pain, before fleeing towards the forest.

_I need to do something._

Meyers tried to get to the controller, but the teen kicked it out of his reach, towards the mawile who instantly shattered it to pieces. Incomprehensible horror dawned on him.

"...What have you done?"

"Saved someone I promised," the teen snarled back, "Growlithe deserves to live, and you're not going to take that away from him."

The kid rushed towards the fallen canine, lifting him up in a fireman's carry. Once he was sure of his hold, the teen rushed out of the clearing with the mawile tucked into his arms.

"Damn it!" He cursed, watching the group leave. Even at the cost of his own hand, he'd be damned if he allowed that brat and that growlithe to get away like that.

With his diminishing strength and one remaining arm, he began to push himself up.

* * *

Travers _hated _waiting, especially when it came to something so simple.

This was supposed to be an in and out job. A search and retrieve. The target? A growlithe of all things. Yes, it was an experimental hybrid, but not only was it physically weak, it was even equipped with a shock collar.

_Meyers is more incompetent than I thought._

"Hey, orange girl?"

"Don't call me _orange girl!"_

Travers winced. Did she have to be so loud?

"Fine then, what's your name?"

"Misty Waterflower," the orangette answered pridefully. Then again considering what the name represented, that wasn't very surprising.

"Waterflower eh? Daughter of Michael Waterflower?"

"You know my dad?" Misty narrowed his eyes.

"Anyone in my business would know that fucker," Travers answered with a laugh, ignoring the glowing red of purple on the girl's face, "Anyway, just how _competent _is your boyfriend? It's not like Meyers to take so long."

"Shut up. Red won't go down so easily," The girl shot back, "He'll kick your friend's ass."

"I should tell you he's not really my friend. Worrying about him is more of a professional courtesy," He halted as he heard footsteps near the tent.

"Ah, here he comes. Well, it's been nice chatting with you, and good luck with your not-boyfriend when he—"

His words died down his throat, as Travers subconsciously stood up, at the sight before him. It wasn't Meyers. Instead, it was the teen— Red, covered in blood and a dead-looking growlithe on his shoulders. The mawile was trudging close behind, obviously exhausted.

"Where is Meyers?" Travers asked, his tone sounding like a formal command. The teen almost flinched at his voice before catching himself and glowering back defiantly.

"Red!" The orangette howled before rushing towards her companion concern clouding her features.

"Get Inside. Talk later," Red breathed, as he slowly put the growlithe on the ground. The fire-type spasmed a few times at the movement, before shifting to placidity. The teen tilted his head towards the girl and spoke, never leaving Travers's eyes, "We're leaving. NOW. Take what you need."

"But—"

"NOW."

"You're not going anywhere without handing that growlithe to me. Or before Meyers gets back for that matter," Travers refuted sternly.

"Your friend lost an arm." Red taunted, "If you really care about him, you should try to save him. If you run you might make it. And what the hell are you doing standing like a fucking stone?" The teen snarled his last words, directing them towards the girl, "I told you to take what is necessary. Do it NOW."

Misty seemed to shake back into motion at the boy's sharp tongue. She ran towards her tent, and began to pack her backpacks, tossing in whatever she could find, before proceeding to do the same with Red's own.

"Useless," Travers sighed, "None of you are going anywhere."

He slowly moved out of his relaxed stance, his fingers closing towards his own waist.

"Skarmory!" The teen yelled at the steel avian, who had taken to the air, "attack anything that is hostile!" The skarmory screeched back, its gaze fixed on Travers.

_He says Meyers lost a hand. A bluff? Even if it is, I can't call it. He'll escape if I let him out of my sight. Even if Ariados stands guard, the skarmory will attack, and that can be problematic._

"Lost an arm, you say? Well then, I'll need to go bring him back. Why don't the two of you to stay here like good little kids. It's much more fun when everyone is obedient, no?"

"Try me!" The teen hissed, clearly perturbed and not in the mood for small talk. "Misty, are you done?"

"I'm done— I'm done!" The girl— Misty —yelled back, perplexed and fearful at her friend's change in attitude. "Croconaw, come into your pokéball and—"

"No one is going anywhere!" Travers reinforced his point, "Fuck! Why doesn't anyone ever do things the easy way?" He hit the floor with his boots twice, as the ariados snapped into action. "Let's make them dance!"

It happened in an instant. One moment the ariados was opening its jaws, and the next, it shot several strands of silky material all around the place, creating a meshwork. The strings were thin and shined with something purple on them. Travers almost smiled, seeing the teen—despite his anger—stop and cautiously stare at the strings, instead of trying to tear through them like most of the morons his age might have done.

_He'd make a nice grunt. Maybe even push up to a Captain in a few months, if he's diligent enough. Too bad it turned out like this._

Travers raised a hand as the skarmory was swooped down towards the strings. For some reason, the skarmory paused in its descent.

_Did it recognize the threat on its own?_ He raised an eyebrow. He hadn't seen the kid give it any instructions. This was becoming interesting. How did the teen manage to survive keeping something with such high independence on his team?

_How… peculiar._

"Those aren't normal string shots, kid," Travers elucidated, "those are Toxic Threads. Even a small nick will cause serious issues if left untreated. Easily enough to put you down for a couple hours." He grinned, "Nifty little thing, right? Also, I'd avoid touching them as well. Sharp as steel, I tell you, but feel free to test it."

Seeing the orangette suddenly freezing in her tracks was almost worth it. Now, she was doing a peculiar little jig as she did her best to balance on one leg.

He allowed himself a moment of amusement before he turned back to the more interesting kid.

"Kill the boy if that bird attacks."

The teen— Red —glared at him balefully.

"Now then," Travers grinned, glancing at the scyther who seemed disinterested as ever. "You stay where you are. Easy right? It's that simple. No one has to get hurt." He glanced at Red appraisingly. "Well more hurt than you already are."

Red gnashed his teeth.

"Now be a good boy while I go look for Meyers." He gave a sly grin at the girl, "I'm leaving you all alone with him." He paused for a moment, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"The hell are you—" Misty growled before she was interrupted by a strangled gasp.

Travers' eyes widened as he turned towards the tent. It was someone he had become intimately familiar with over the past several days. Except he was covered in blood, and barely able to stand. And instead of his arm, there was a bloodied stump.

"Meyers!" He breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	13. Act 1 - Immolation | Chapter 13 - The Heart of a Coward

"_Long day?"_

_Red answered the professor's question with an exhausted scowl, dropping everything unceremoniously on the grass lawn. "Seriously old man, how did you even manage them back when you were in the business?"_

_Oak laughed. "Back in the business, you say? It wasn't as easy as you think. Being a trainer is more than just acquiring a starter, catching a few more on your journey and participating in conferences."_

"_You forgot growing stronger," Seven-year-old Red Ketchum put in his two cents excitedly._

_Oak perused the boy's hairs fondly, earning himself another scowl. "Not really. Everyone in the trainer business becomes strong on the way, some more so than others. But I digress," Oak sat down as well, "It's not all fun and games. Things don't turn out the way you expect them to. Quite ironically, the most difficult part about being a trainer is personal growth, to make the difficult choice, and stand up to them in the face of adversity."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_My father was a milkman," Oak admitted, "he wanted me to become a milkman like himself and his father before him, but I wanted to become a trainer. To follow the path of adventure. I ended up meeting a lot of trainers as a kid and I really wanted to be like them."_

"_What were they like?" Red asked, curious._

_Oak chuckled. "As trainers? Well, the usual stuff. Travel from city to city, winning badges and the like. But that was— is —a very limited life."_

"_So, what do you think I should do then?"_

"_You?" Oak laughed, "personally, I'd say you'd become a good scientist, but I'll leave the choice up to you when the time comes. It's your life, change it, influence it, make your mark upon it, and you'll find that things will never be the same again."_

"_But obviously I need to be strong to control the pokémon! They're so much stronger than me." Red pouted. "Come on, old man, what's the secret?"_

_Oak chuckled. "Really now, do you think I'm stronger than Nidoking? Or Dragonite for that matter?"_

_The kid thought about it. "Well, you're tiny compared to Drago!"_

"_Indeed I am." Oak chortled. "So tell me Red, why are we the ones taming them? Why aren't they taming us?"_

_Red pondered over the question, but could not arrive at an answer._

"_The truth is," The old man sighed "is that it is not the strongest that survive, nor the most intelligent."_

"_Then who wins?" Red frowned._

"_The ones that are the most responsive to change."_

* * *

_The ones most responsive to change. _Red snorted derisively_. A little more specificity would have helped here. What am I supposed to do now?_

Red considered his situation. He didn't know what made the growlithe special, but given what it had gone through, he wasn't sure the puppy would survive the day. More importantly, he had to consider the deadlock Travers had put him in. The poisonous threads that had woven an intricate mesh all around them, had limited their movement.

He glanced at the scyther sitting at the corner, pretending to be oblivious to the entire event. Red might even have believed it, if not for the bug's earlier behavior. He wasn't sure what Mawile had told him, but it had resulted in an unnatural calmness all morning. Skarmory had done the same, though she whatever words of wisdom she offered were accompanied with hefty beatings so he wasn't sure how much Scyther agreed with it. Still, it probably counted for something.

"Kill the boy if that bird attacks."

Red froze. _Kill?_

This was bad. Really bad. He had tried to save the growlithe from the two men— not that it had been very successful if Growlithe's condition was of any indication, and now _all _of their lives were in danger. The pangs of self-doubt that had been held at bay with a combination of self-righteousness and adrenaline began to finally creep across his mind.

_Have I just killed us all?_

He glanced at the ariados in front of him. It was easily twice as large as mawile, and their poison was said to be incredibly lethal. Ariados venom could kill within a day if untreated and it wasn't a quick or easy death. He wasn't sure what kind of long-ranged attacks the spider had in its arsenal, but he wasn't willing to test them and find out.

"Now then," Travers spoke up with a false grin, "You stay where you are. Easy right? It's that simple. No one has to get hurt."

Red decided then and there that he didn't like the man's appraising stare. Despite his fear and apprehension, Red slowly raised his eyes to match Travers's gaze. For some reason, this defiant action made him feel more in control of the situation. Though he supposed letting his anger dictate his actions was never a good idea.

_Misty's been a dangerous influence on me._

Travers smirked. "Well more hurt than you already are."

_I've seen what Meyers was capable of. And if anything, this one is probably worse._

Red opened his mouth to refute but Travers bet him to it. "Now be a good boy while I go look for Meyers." The man directed a sly grin at Misty, "I'm leaving you all alone with him." He paused for a moment, before wagging his eyebrows. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

He was about to respond to the statement with a slur when something else attracted his attention.

Someone else had stepped out of the shadows, the campfire casting a sinister shadow behind him. Someone he had encountered a while ago, someone he had not thought to meet a second time. Except he was covered in blood, and barely able to stand. And instead of his arm, there was a bloodied stump.

"Meyers!" Travers breathed. Despite being spoken in an extremely low voice, it instantly drew the attention of everyone in the area.

Red watched the bloodied man trudge towards Travers, the latter preventing him from falling face-first into the ground. Out here, where the light was slightly better, it was clear that the man would die out of blood loss at any moment. How he was managing to hold up against the agony was anybody's guess.

"That— that _thing_," Meyers alternated between growling and weeping in pain—" he told us it was a growlithe, just a— _bitch ate my arm —_" Blackened blood spurted out of his mouth as he tried to talk. His entire body was spasming, splattering blood all over Travers's outfit. At this point, his ramblings had devolved into wails of pain and demands of vengeance—blindly shaking his hands in Red's general direction —uncaring of Traver's attempts to soothe him.

"Don't worry," Travers answered strongly, trying to calm down the convulsing man and hold him down with his strength, "I'll apply some more anesthetics, and—"

Meyers convulsed hard once again spraying blood all over Travers. Red tried to look away, but his eyes seemed strangely fixated at the dying man.

"They lied— kid hurt, kill kid— kill that bitch that—" Meyers continued rambling, spit splattering out of his mouth, his face becoming more and more hysterical with every passing second. Travers pushed a syringe— some kind of medication perhaps?—into the dying man's body, followed by another, but Meyers's condition only seemed to worsen.

"Kill the— kill—" Meyers croaked before he regurgitated another pile of clotted blood. Whatever happened, had robbed him of his remaining consciousness. And then Meyers collapsed.

It was abrupt. There were no spasms or screams or moans. There were no more howls of agony. Meyers simply stopped moving.

"Meyers?" Travers motioned, shaking the man, over and over again. Even Red was flabbergasted.

He did not move.

"Mey— Meyers? Hey Meyers? Wake the fuck up!" Travers shook the man with all his strength.

Red stared at the fallen man. A part of him whispered that Travers was distracted. That this might be his only chance to move. To get out of this wretched situation. But something inside him froze him into inaction. He simply could not take his eyes off the unmoving body. His feet felt like they were glued to the ground. For deep inside him, he knew what had transpired.

Meyers was dead.

* * *

_Something bad is going to happen. I can feel it._

Red wasn't sure how he knew it, but that statement seemed to reverberate inside his mind and heart for some reason, as if something alien and esoteric had just confirmed it for him, and was trying to warn him of the future happenings that were about to take place. Meyers was dead and wasn't coming back, and as for Travers... 

Gone was the man making casual comments with an air of absolute confidence. Gone was the man who was willing to treat him and Misty as casual annoyances, and instead what stood before him was cold efficiency. Travers's eyes had lost all playfulness and his gaze alone paralyzed him. Every instinct in Red's body was telling him to flee.

He needed to find some way to get out of these threads. Mawile was trapped beside him, and growithe was… incapacitated. Misty was shell-shocked, and probably wouldn't be able to help much. That left the scyther.

_He isn't going to help me. This is really a— fuck do they even have a word for this kind of shitty situation? The only thing that can probably—_

He paused. _This… just might work._

He slowly glanced downwards, being careful not to move his face before he caught Mawile's eye. He then extended his pinky finger and moved it horizontally above the thread closest to him. Mawile blinked once before nodding.

_All or nothing._

Red looked back at Travers who was still on the ground next to his dead comrade. A few seconds later, he stood up gently laying the other man down on the ground.

"You were annoying, but you didn't deserve this," he sighed.

Travers closed his eyes completely ignoring his surroundings and took a deep breath before opening them once more. And then his presence _changed_. What stood in front of Red was an entirely different beast.

"All right kid, the gloves are off." He spoke coldly, almost clinically. "It's real simple. You hand over the growlithe immediately. Or I'll kill you."

Misty blanched. "Red— Red he is serious. He is going to kill us. Just— Just give him the growlithe—that thing isn't even ours and he's gonna kill—"

"_Shut up!" _Red hissed, suppressing the urge to shake the other girl who was pulling his left arm wildly. Meyers's death had been the final straw. It had finally become real for her. "If you pull like that, those threads will poison and _kill _us."

That shut her up.

He turned towards Travers, knowing that his next words might well be his last. He knew _exactly _what kind of reaction his words would procure. Even so, he'd be damned if he said anything otherwise. He cast a single glance at the growlithe, who was beginning to slowly stir again.

_He was able to heal back from that? Just what kind of growlithe is he?_

"Your friend was electrocuting Growlithe with that device, torturing him over and over, and his arbok was crushing him to death. All I did was try to escape with the growlithe. Was that wrong?"

_Come on._

Travers glared at him. "Do I look like I care?"

"You should. Growlithe was captured and experimented upon, and he deserves to be free. Your friend was killing him. Growlithe acted out of self-defense, and now you want to kill him for that too?"

"You talk too much," Travers grunted before raising his palm."Ariados—

"Skarmory NOW!" Red yelled, kicking Misty in the knee, dropping the girl as the avian swooped down on his orders. Ariados reacted, instantly shooting a thin strand of poisonous silk at Red. It was moving incredibly quickly and would probably pierce through Red if not for the fact that it stopped in mid-air.

**CRACK!**

The threads around them _shattered._

"What?" Travers exclaimed before his eyes narrowed in on the little creature next to Red's legs.

Red smiled. For once, their training had paid off. Mawile had executed his plan perfectly. She had slowly concentrated a thin stream of concentrated Icy Wind into her surroundings. He had been trying to teach Mawile how to hold concentrated malleable ice-energy but she was far from creating a working ice-beam. What she could do, however, was slowly freeze things she was in contact with. Mawile had slowly frozen the surrounding strings and followed it up by creating a thin frozen layer in front of them. All of Red's talk had been for this single moment.

They could finally move.

* * *

Skarmory was not having a good day.

She had joined up with Red to gain a new perspective on personal strength. Truth be told, she wasn't quite sure what the term encompassed, but like all other things, it was second nature for her to take her grandfather's words at face value, even years after his demise. Red had been satisfying— as a custodian of sorts —and as a king, Skarmory had taken good care to ensure that every member of the team was significant. Mawile had some significance and the shellder… was growing, so it wasn't like she had anything to complain about.

Then Red had dropped the entire idea of a bug-hunt on their heads.

It had been a humdrum affair— most of it anyway —until that scyther had shown up. Arrogant, quick to its feet, and somewhat powerful as well. Nothing compared to herself, of course, a lesson which she had been happy to carve upon its body.

Then she found out that the scyther—an interesting rogue till then—was actually a puppy that had been kicked way too many times. The attack hadn't been a product of arrogance, but of abandonment issues.

_How off-putting._

And then two more clowns had trespassed into her domain, and once again, she had stayed her hand out of courtesy to her custodian. She had even acknowledged Red's request and kept an eye on the man and his lousy spider. Seriously, what was there to look about spiders anyway? They excreted those sticky web-like things all over the place and degraded an otherwise beautiful environment. It was almost like they thought that environmental desecration was their way of proving their otherwise insignificant existence in the world.

_Disgusting._

Turned out that Red and Mawile had run into the other clown. There had been a battle involved— _And he didn't invite me —_The 'I-stare-at-you-when-you-look-away' growlithe, had been grievously injured. Again. Seriously, what good were growlithe? Mawile had beaten it up with no trouble and despite Red's medicines, the puppy was back in its near-dead state. Either Red's ability with healing sucked, or the growlithe was simply that frail to begin with.

And the dead and not-so-dead clown wanted to fight about it. Seriously, what was with humans and their obsession with meaningless existences? There was the orange-head and the buffoon-like water thing— _Like seriously, why is its head so big?_ —Then the growlithe. And now this. Well, Shellder had been growing much more impressive lately. Perhaps he would train orange-head as well? Wait, did humans train other humans? Skarmory did remember them talking about such a location, called school or something.

She observed, from her vantage point in the air, how the spider-abomination had trapped Red, Mawile and the remaining incompetents. Had she wanted to, she could have killed the spider within a single dive. However, her trainer might not be able to survive an attack from the web-shitter. After all, his hide could not compare to the magnificence that was her steel.

Red had always come up with a plan for battles thus far, helping her find the most optimal ways to end the fight. He let her fight on her own but he would drop hints that would help mid-battle and then would analyze the fight afterward. Skarmory was almost beginning to see him as a teacher. He had not let her down till date and Skarmory was sure that this time too, he would have a plan.

And so she waited.

He didn't disappoint.

"Skarmory, NOW!"

Skarmory would have screeched in exhilaration, but it was beneath her. So, she satisfied herself with a sharp dive towards the delinquent spider on the ground. All that talking and waiting and false diplomacy had finally been washed away. The weight of the fight would fall upon her shoulders.

_As it should._

Skarmory dived at the ariados. She trusted that Red would be able to dodge the first attack. Now all she had to do was to ensure that it had been the last. She appraised the bug as she descended. It was probably trained by the other clown, so it would provide quality entertainment.

The ariados squeaked and leaped out of her way.

_Fleeing without a fight? I shouldn't have expected anything else from a plebeian. Pathetic._

As she neared the final arc of her dive she extended her wings fully, coating them in a layer of steel.

And ran right into a web.

Countless thin strands glinted among the trees, almost invisible in the darkness.

_Does it really think that this will stop me?_

Skarmory roared and ripped through the web, her wings covered in violent steel energy. Enraged she turned back to the bug. She was going to rip it to shreds.

Except the bug was gone, and in its stead was—

"Use Vice Grip. Tear it in half!"

It was like watching shadows move. One moment there was nothing. The next, a deadly creature, with a metallic shell and giant steel horns materialized out of a red beam in the air above her. Skarmory beat her wings hard, propelling herself upward just in time to dodge two steel horns rushing towards her. The creature slammed into the ground, carving a crater on the forest floor.

_Perhaps this will be a little interesting after all._

"You won't escape so easily," Skarmory heard Travers address her, "Pinsir, follow Ariados and use Formation B. Restrict its aerial mobility."

The pinsir grunted, leaping off the crater, its horns twitching madly. From the way the metallic protrusions were pulverizing the boulders on the ground, Skarmory was certain that not even her armor would present a high resistance should she find herself trapped. A little distance from her new opponent, the ariados stood on-guard, spewing webs all over the place.

_Trying to draw me into close-range combat?_

Skarmory glanced at the webs appraisingly. The steel horned pokémon was extremely strong. Strong enough that Skarmory didn't want to test her wings against its horns. Even more so in the nest of webs that was growing more and more dense.

Her decision made, Skarmory took to the air, gliding away from her trainer. The pinsir leaped after her, demolishing several trees on the way. The ariados, now finished with an impromptu barrier between itself and its master, scurried towards the forest after her.

Skarmory smirked. _Can you trap an entire forest?_

* * *

Travers watched the bird fly off into the forest, with Pinsir and Ariados following swiftly behind. Strangely enough, the two bug-types worked in unison better than the rest of his team. Between the two, Travers was sure that he had the bird trapped for the next ten minutes or so— more than enough time to complete the mission.

"The skarmory is now out of the equation," he addressed the precocious teen in front of him. "Hand over that growlithe immediately."

His waning patience was met with the teen's stubbornness. "Skarmory isn't the only member of my team."

The mawile stepped forward, taking its place beside its trainer. The orangette filled in right beside the teen as a show of support. Travers could see a croconaw and a starmie in the background as well, apart from the scyther.

_Mightyena might just… no, this has gone long enough._

"On your head be it, kid," Travers intoned. "No more warning. No more tricks." He sighed, reaching into his belt, and pulled out his one, remaining pokémon, before tossing it into the air.

"Eradicate them, Golem!"

* * *

For several decades, the name Golem had been synonymous with pure, unadulterated strength in the Kanto region. During its progression from Geodude-stage to Graveler, the pokémon line gains a considerable amount of mass through assimilation of rock into its body—a process that took from years to decades. Somewhere during the first twenty years of its life, most Geodude evolved to Graveler. From then on, it took an incredibly long time, sometimes spanning several decades, for it to evolve into Golem. Strangely enough, a Graveler did not add further body mass to itself through rock assimilation, and yet, most golem weighed at least _thrice _as much as a Graveler did. It was one of the many unsolved mysteries of the pokémon world.

And that was without mentioning any of its terrifying power. Essentially an army-killer, enough to reduce the population of a plainland to zero within a matter of hours, a Golem was one of the monsters that were technically classified as pokémon, barely out of consideration. One did not catch a Golem, rather one merely tried to escape should they be unfortunate enough to encounter one.

And that was the creature that was currently standing in front of him.

Every single entity in the area paled.

Travers smiled. This was his _magnum opus. _This was what had landed him his position of Executive, even though the officiation was due a couple of months. He had spent months ensuring complete and utter compliance from this beast. And very soon, it would reap him the rewards he was entitled to.

Travers looked at him grimly. "Golem's movement will likely cause tectonic vibrations and Magnitudes of some fashion, so the Rangers might come looking. Sorry kid, I need to erase everything that happened here. Looks like none of you will be leaving here alive. Hope you said your last words."

* * *

A deathly aura descended down upon the forest, an all-consuming feeling of overwhelming destructive power, and yet as unyielding as a mountain. It wasn't a matter of strength, or speed, or pure reserves. It was the primal sensation of fear that prey felt when corned by a ferocious and hungry predator. The feeling that told everyone in the vicinity that they were about to be ripped apart, and yet, there was not a single thing they could do about it.

Golem gave a thorough glance at his surroundings. One of the advantages of his body anatomy was that it allowed him near-complete vision of his surroundings, as long as his head was allowed to protrude out of the shell. His shell— large, dark and horribly strong, to drop down to the forest floor, as Golem made a thorough analysis of every single entity present in the forest.

There was the scyther—weak, and in pain. It was obvious from its posture. There was the tiny ivory-ish creature, and though Golem did not know what it was, it didn't seem like an immediate threat. There was that tiny lavender-ish thing spasming on the floor—not a threat either. There were two humans— not threats, but could be in time. Humans were _always _threats.

Golem had it _simple. _There were things that were _good, _and there were those that were _bad. _Taking out Master's threats was _good. _Failing to perform that was bad, as was disobeying Master's orders. When Golem did _bad, _he felt pain.

Golem did not like _bad._

The others that served Master could stay out. Ariados could, Pinsir could, and so could Mightyena. Golem could not. Golem was stupid. Stupid creatures only came out when there was a need. For Golem, a need meant having threats that the master wanted to destroy.

And Golem could do that. He wasn't like the others. Golem was stupid_, _and couldn't understand complex things, ideas and emotions. The only thing he could do was _destroy_. In a way, he could also protect—by _destroying _whatever his master ascertained as a threat.

His only purpose was to attack, attack and relentlessly keep attacking until each and every threat in his master's vicinity was systematically destroyed. The moment he was finished with one target, he'd switch to the immediate next, and keep doing so long until only death and blood remained.

It was bloody, but it was simple.

Golem liked simple. Simple was good, and good meant no pain.

"Golem," Travers intoned, "Use Rollout, and take them down!"

Golem acknowledged the command. He'd ensured that he did good.

Golem pushed his head and limbs out, standing upon the ground, as he evaluated the group.

They were what was threatening his Master. Golem would crush them. He tucked his head into his shell, followed by his limbs, leaving behind the spheroidal dome of super-dense rock on the outside.

And then he rolled.

* * *

Mawile was beginning to agree with the Travers human. Red was being overly invested in the entire thing. A situation in which he had no business being in.

This was not worth it.

The smart thing to do was to just hand over the growlithe and part ways. After all, they owed it _nothing_. The man looked like he was in a bad mood. Maybe he could take Orange with him as well.

_But noooo! _Red had to be determined to save the puppy. She stubbornly ignored the part of her mind that whispered that she was the one who brought the growlithe back in the first place.

And then Travers released that monstrosity that was Golem.

Mawile looked up. And up.

The thing was like… five times taller than her. Scratch that, it was the biggest, largest rock she had seen since she came to Kanto. It was practically a large _mountain. _A large, spherical mountain, with a head and body.

And then the mountain locked eyes with her and charged.

Mawile blinked.

The mountain was still charging.

She appraised the situation once again. Red wanted to save the growlithe. And now a living mountain was going to kill them. None of this would have happened if they hadn't gone deep in the forest looking for bugs which made this entire mess Orange's fault. True she was the one who brought back the growlithe but she did that because she was mad at Orange's croconaw. Which made it doubly her fault.

Having someone to blame, Mawile noted, actually made the situation a little better.

"Get out of the way." Red yelled grabbing Shellder and jumping to the side."Misty!"

"Starmie, Ice Beam!" Misty yelled, ready for once. "Croconaw, Water Gun."

Mawile watched in awe as a massive amount of water rammed into the golem. The Ice Beam rammed into the Water Gun trapping the mountain inside it. She hadn't known attacks could be used in tandem like that.

Unfortunately for them, such a trap was not meant to hold something quite so heavy.

**CREAAAAAAAAAK!**

It didn't even last for five seconds. The mountain rolled forward, its mass grinding through the ice— shattering it —but the delay was more than enough to move out of its path. Not that it was necessary.

The remaining water had frozen creating a slippery terrain, completely throwing off the rock monster's sense of direction. It ended up slipping through the makeshift ice slide and slammed into a tree. It was a testament to how monstrous the rolling mountain was, that the impact didn't affect it at all. The tree, on the other hand, was flattened.

Not, smashed. Not blown away. _Flattened._

Mawile gulped.

"Mawile, dodge!" Red instructed, his eyes peering at the approaching golem.

_Dodge? Alone? What is he—?_

But Red wasn't listening. "Misty, another shot. Aim for its sides. We need to push it off its path!"

The orange-head instantly complied. "Croconaw, Water Gun on its left. Throw it off-balance. Starmie, Ice beam."

The congregated attack shot towards the creature, who expertly twisted out of the way, swerving around the attack before moving back to its original path, almost as if the brief counterattack hadn't happened in the first place.

"What the hell is that— that thing?" Red blanched. Mawile noticed her trainer take a step back, and tightened her resolve. Her Iron Head, for once, would be painfully inadequate, considering how massive the mountain was. That left…

_Not Fairy Wind. Trying to bite might as well squash me beneath its weight._

Mawile shook her head.

_Unproductive. Not an option. Icy Wind is out too. That thing tore through the Ice Beam like it was nothing. Mist… will decrease visibility for everyone on our side. _Mawile scoffed self derisively _Exactly what I need. Something that makes it easier for it to kill us._

She glanced at her trainer. He seemed frustrated, and given the way he had unconsciously taken a step back, he was clearly conflicted about future attack strategies. Well, it undoubtedly fell on her to pick up the slack on her trainer's shortcomings.

_You owe me one hundred poképuffs for this._

The mountain was getting closer with every passing second, and there was only so much she could do by running away. Perhaps if she could somehow nullify the initial impact, then the croconaw and the rest could power up a cumulative attack. It was a _horrible _idea, but it was an idea.

Taking a deep breath, Mawile began to concentrate, allowing layers of steel energy to cover her entire form.

* * *

Misty knew she wasn't perfect. Far from it. She was loud, she was brash and wore her heart proudly on her sleeve. She was the youngest of her sisters, and the most adored by her father. If she wanted something she had it. Consequently, if she didn't like something, she had no qualms about making her feelings clear about it.

She hated it when people looked down upon water types. She hated it when anyone commented on her sense of fashion. But most importantly, she hated bugs, or rather, she hated anything that was creepy and crawly the majority of which could be classified under bugs.

Come to think of it, there was a whole lot of things that Misty was scared of. She had been teased a lot by her sister, her classmates, and nearly everyone she met. She had been called names like scaredy-cat, coward and many more. At first, she had reacted the only way she knew how. With violence. But later on, she grew to accept that part of herself. It was, after all, simple to avoid things you didn't like and were afraid of. Even now, she would rather give up the growlithe, avoid the terrorists and get the hell out of this goddamn forest.

_Yes,_ Misty labeled herself derisively_. I'm a coward._

She felt fear. In fact, what she was feeling right now probably went far beyond that. At this moment, she would have liked nothing more than to curl up in a ball and ignore this whole clusterfuck. But bravery wasn't about not feeling fear. It was about being able to act despite feeling it.

_I am a coward._ She said to herself again. _But that doesn't mean I can't be brave._

This was of course, completely contradictory, but then again, Misty was a contradictory individual.

_Focus. Deep breaths._

Misty began to appraise the situation in earnest, doing her best to push her fear deep within her. She watched Mawile gather steel-energy over her entire form, probably an Iron Defence. Did Mawile actually think that a little bit of steel energy would be able to hold off a rolling golem? Misty didn't like Mawile very much, but she wouldn't let her get killed for her hubris.

"That won't work!" She said bluntly.

"What won't work?" Red asked.

"That," She pointed at Mawile. "Her Iron Defense cannot stand in front of that monstrosity's power. She'd be squashed."

Mawile glared at her, but Misty paid her no attention. If there was one thing that Mist decided, it was that she was not going to let this Travers thug win. She could deal with his casual insults, but when faced with the question of survival, Misty would not be found lacking.

She stepped forward, inwardly feeling emboldened by her knee-jerk reaction.

"Red," She articulated clearly, seeing the golem expertly weave its way through Croconaw and Starmie's attacks. "Mawile won't be able to help in this battle, and neither can Croconaw or Starmie. We need Skarmory for this."

"I know," Red muttered, his tone on the edge, "but Skarmory is not here. We need to think of—"

"Then go get Skarmory. I'll handle things here."

"..."

"..."

"What?" Misty asked, almost affronted by her friend's reaction.

"What did you say?"

"I said that I'll handle things here," Misty gave him her best 'everything's-going-to-be-alright' smile. "Take Mawile and get Skarmory back. Croconaw and I can manage. Besides, I've got Starmie here to help too."

Red stared at her blankly. What was worse, was that the ever-capricious mawile seemed to imitate her trainer's reaction. This was her heroic moment. Why were they staring at her with such disbelief?

Misty felt an urge to smack their lights out.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" She growled.

"... nothing. It's just that, you seemed like… brave. Real brave." Red answered, a conflicting expression on his face.

Misty felt her face heat up. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"No!. Just…" Red hesitated "We'll be back as quickly as we can. Stay… Stay safe"

Misty waved his concerns off. "Don't bother. And take the growlithe with you. I don't want to have to deal with protecting it."

"You sure?" Red asked her, his face clouded with worry. "That's a powerful rock-type, and not a lot of things would affect it."

"Who do you think you're talking to?" Misty arched an eyebrow, a soft smile lacing her lips.

Red grinned back at her "You're right. Come on Mawile," He turned towards his starter before the two of them raced towards the growlithe.

Seeing the duo leave, Misty sighed, before steeling herself and meeting Travers's eye. "As I mentioned, I'll fight you if need be."

* * *

Travers was, in general, a very calm person. Even when things went wrong, you could generally trust him to keep a cool head. Ambition he could appreciate, greed he could understand, and even blunt stubbornness he could empathize with. But this? This was foolishness— foolishness that drove the boy into putting his team, friends and even himself into danger, just to save some creature he had encountered a little while ago in the forest.

Travers knew bullshit when he saw it, and for all the talk over the growlithe's value as a shiny, it was clear that the boy wanted to keep the growlithe safe, and not necessarily for himself. A textbook self-sacrificing hero complex—exactly the kind of foolishness that had once caused Travers to become an orphan early in his life. The teen in front of him seemed to do his utmost to remind Travers— painfully —of his own father and his stupid ideals.

Ideals that had lead the man to an ignominious death—the man who had been the protector of Cerulean for the entirety of his life had been murdered right in his office. They called it a heart attack, but Travers knew—_he knew —_the truth. Cerulean gym had passed on to the Waterflowers, and all Travers had to remember his dead father by was some medal and a meaningless certificate.

"Pathetic!" Travers sneered, his face twisted into a cruel caricature, "Do you even realize how stupid this is? Do you? You think that you can get past my golem, past my ariados, and past my pinsir to get that growlithe to safety? Even if you make it, that thing won't last a day given its condition!"

"You don't know that!" Red barked back at him, tucking the puppy underneath his elbow. "And don't think that I'll drop dead just because you have some orders to fulfill. I promised it I'd save it, and I will. You and your Team Rocket be damned!"

Travers gritted his teeth in annoyance. "Golem, end him."

Golem changed tracks mid-trajectory, expertly weaving through the obstacles placed on its path by the starmie, and shot towards the teen with the intent to kill.

"—Hydro Pump!"

A standard Water Gun was essentially a large amount of water propelled under pressure. This was anything but that. What came out wasn't just a greater load of water content. It was literally a thin, highly compressed, beam of water.

_Hydro Pump? And at this level? How the fuck do you teach a crocanaw how to execute an elite-tier move?_

The pressure was so unbelieving high that it made the water rotate over and over, forming a beam-like structure. Unlike Water Gun, this rotated at extreme pressures. Unlike Water Gun, it had the potential to strongly affect rock density and make it porous. Unlike Water Gun, this wasn't something he could ignore.

And it was this Hydro Pump, in all its glory, that slammed into Golem.

Travers winced, as the water-type attack met Golem's shell in a momentous explosion.

The golem was bodily raised and sent flying into the trees, crashing through and demolishing anything that was unfortunate enough to fall in its path.

The orangette—Misty Waterflower—smirked at him. "I'm an aspiring Water Master, so don't underestimate me!"

Travers looked at the croconaw carefully. It looked exhausted. It wouldn't be able to throw out another one any time soon.

_As it should be. The fact that it could use it even once at its stage is enough to classify it as a freak of nature. Fucking Waterflowers._

Taking advantage of the opportunity, the kid— Red — and his mawile had sprinted off into the forest. He was probably moving towards his skarmory, which meant he was going towards Traver's own pinsir and ariados. In any other situation, Travers would have called that suicide. Going towards an Ariados in a jungle?

But he would not be making any more assumptions tonight. He would be operating under a worst-case scenario protocol. That the boy would somehow live and may even escape. Which meant he couldn't leave anything to chance.

"Fine!" Travers hissed, "If you want to die so badly, allow me to assist you on your way." He took out his remaining pokéball and threw it into the air, releasing his final pokémon— a large Mightyena.

"Mightyena, kill that boy and his mawile."

The canine barked in acknowledgment, literally oozing bloodlust, before dashing into the forest after the teen and the mawile.

Travers turned to Misty and spoke savagely. "Mightyena will kill both of them them. But you? I'm going to kill you personally."

"Feel free to try!" Misty shot confidently. Though her shaky legs and the slight tremor in her voice gave away just how apprehensive she was feeling.

"I liked you better when you were jumpy and angry. A single successful hit has made you cocky." Travers remarked, settling back into his initial composed demeanor. Pinsir and Ariados were some of the most capable members of his team, and with Mightyena on his heels, the boy would soon meet his end. He'd enjoy seeing the girl's shattered expression upon seeing the brat's mangled remains. It would be… cathartic_._

"GOLEM!" Travers intoned loudly, "get back here and kill that girl!"

"That Hydro Pump hit it directly," Misty barked. From her tone, it was obvious that she thought he was bluffing. If she only knew. "There's no way that Golem will be able to—"

The ground rumbled, and the fallen trees began to shake. And from within the demolished landscape rose Golem once again. Travers could see a semi-cylindrical hole gaping through its otherwise impenetrable rock armor It wasn't much, just a narrow gash into the armor, but it was the first time he had seen such a deep wound inflicted on Golem. Of course, even that would simply regenerate within a day or two, given Golem's own mastery of Rock Polish.

"—the— how the hell is that— " The girl stammered, flabbergasted at being proven wrong.

Travers smirked. That Hydro Pump might have been powerful, but it was far from enough. Most pokémon would have been incapacitated by it and it might have even killed the more physically frail ones. Golem, however, was not most pokémon. Over three tons of compressed, solid rock, Golem was his magnum opus, his creation, his masterpiece. Something that would someday, go ahead and carve a name for itself in the history of Team Rocket. Just like Hydreigon was associated with Proton, so too would Golem be linked with himself.

_Enough. _He shook his head _Admiring one's own technique mid-battle is a sure way to get yourself killed. There is no point in thinking about possible futures._

Travers sighed. He had allowed himself to become more invested in this battle than he had any right to be. This was simply not done. Proton had not taught him to lose his composure like this. Then again Proton's answer to any problem was to simply leave no survivors.

_Time to finish this._

"Magnitude, level 5. Single line, Shock Wave."

His lips twisted into something that was almost but not quite a smile. The proper application of a Magnitude attack required nothing short of mastery of tectonic manipulation. Golem could perform it at a proper Level 7, maybe even Level 8 if he really pushed it. It required a solid Level 9 control before Travers could teach it to morph the attack into the utterly devastating technique that was Earthquake. Given the way Golem was progressing, Travers gave it around four to five months.

Pain was a great motivator, and Golem, in particular, was a rather efficient medium for its application.

Though to be honest, he wasn't a big fan of Earthquake. That was Proton's gimmick. Well, that and Draco Meteor. That man was the worst trigger-happy individual Travers had had the misfortune to meet, let alone be trained for an entire six-month period.

No, Magnitude was far better. Much more versatile, efficient and easily morphed to suit his goals. He was a covert operative and huge land-shaking attacks were a sure-fire way to attract attention. Hell, even the Level-5 magnitude was pushing it. It was entirely possible that some especially focused ranger would notice the minor earth movement in the forest and dispatch an investigation squad. Which meant he had to wrap this up fast. If there was one thing he would not be betting on today, it was his luck.

Golem rolled on the grassy floor, before bringing his limbs out all of a sudden, and propelling himself into the air with a mighty push. Laymen were of opinion that Golem's shell was the strongest part of their body. They couldn't be more wrong.

It was Golem's limbs that were the strongest. He'd know. He had seen Golem exterminate a Machamp with a single hit.

The propulsion sent Golem around ten feet into the air, before the rocky sphere of destruction slammed into the ground, with both limbs hitting the crust alongside the heavy shell, channeling the energies forward.

The effect was intermediate.

Rocks, boulders—big and small, fragments of shattered plates, stone chips and sharp shards—all of them were raised into the air, tearing through the earth's crust, as the sheer force behind the channeled attack sent them flinging towards the orangette and her croconaw.

"Protect."

Travers saw a translucent yellow barrier form in front of the girl and her team.

His lips curled.

_A Protect huh? Surprisingly versatile._

"Protect and Hydro Pump— one might assume that Michael Waterflower has been grooming an alternate heir for Gym Leader position." He almost smirked at the way the girl gnashed her teeth, irritation visible on her face.

"What the hell is your problem with my father anyway?"

"Just an old acquaintance, I assure you. He was my father's student, after all."

"Your father's—" Misty's eyes widened in disbelief. "Master Gregory? You're…"

"Travers Gregory Brooks, at your service. And you are Misty Waterflower, heiress of Cerulean. Well, after my father's murder."

Misty opened her mouth and then closed it. "Are you… implying something?"

"Heh!" Travers laughed. "Now why would I do that?"

"Because you are jealous of my dad!" Misty brought her hands to her hips. "This is the second time you have brought my father up. What's your damned problem with him? Do you blame him for your— your father's death?"

Travers laughed hollowly. "Oh, don't worry. The old fool would have died anyway. Maybe not tossed aside like yesterday's garbage, but he certainly would have met a similar end."

"You! Then why the hell are you—" The girl began hotly before he cut her off.

"The reason why I mentioned it is because you get flustered when you get angry. And that in doing so you forgot that there is only so much time you can hold up Protect for."

The sudden expression of shock flitting through the girl's face was an absolute delight to behold.

Grinning, he issued his next order. "Rollout. Smash the lingering barrier."

The monstrosity retracted its limbs into the eternal darkness of its shell and rolled back a little. Then, as if possessed by something, it began to spin at incredible speeds, before it shot forward, and slammed into the lingering Protect.

The wall of psychic energy _shattered_.

The starmie had utilized the entirety of its reserves in the barrier's construction. Destroying it had resulted in a visible backlash. The starfish's gem glowed a dim indigo for a moment before it went silent. Starmie was exhausted and incapacitated, and obviously out of the fight.

"Hn," Travers grinned wolfishly. "The next attack will end it," he commented from his position, "and the brat will be next. If he isn't already dead by now." He glanced at the girl, her exhausted croconaw and the incapacitated starmie lying a little far away. There was simply no one to put forth a decent resistance against his golem. The scyther was still sitting in its corner unmoving as it had been since the start of the— Wait, where the hell was that—?

His thoughts came to a screeching halt as Golem wailed in excruciating pain.

* * *

_Pathetic!_

That would be exactly how Paul would describe the current situation. Paul had clear and well-defined lines separating the weak from the strong.

"_The weak don't deserve your respect, and the strong will not respect you. Equality is an ideal best served as arm-chair philosophy."_

Even today, Paul's words constantly rang through Scyther's mind, though he had heard them enough times to slowly incorporate them as part of his philosophy. Sure, the teen might have deserted him, but his words, his thoughts— they never left.

Humans were weak without their pokémon, and Scyther was strong, and therefore he had disregarded the human— Red —'s words. The mawile was small, slow and looked frail, and by the same logic, did not deserve respect. Skarmory was large and powerful, so Scyther had no issue bowing before its might. It didn't even matter that Skarmory had beaten him. Rather, it was the very fact that she had crushed him that solidified his opinion about her.

Growlithe had been no exception. A year under Paul's training had fetched several encounters with such mongrels, loitering alongside the road. Sometimes Scyther would find them tearing apart morsels from cold, rotting flesh, and at others, snacking on leftover food from household kitchens. They lived in packs, lacked power, lacked significance, and lacked a reason for existence. They were _weak._

Red had outwitted him, so he had given him points for that. The fact that he was so… understanding of Scyther's situation also brought in several contradictory feelings within the bug-type. The fact that he enjoyed authority over someone so powerful as Skarmory only increased his value— gave more significance to his existence.

And then Red had gone and thrown everything— his life, his friends and his pack's —all into saving a growlithe.

Scyther had openly sneered at that.

One only invested in something if it had value. Scyther was valuable once, which was why Paul had caught him, trained him and turned him into a warrior. Somewhere along the line, Scyther had lost his worth and had therefore been thrown away into the forest. Sure, he had been somewhat… primal in his previous rendezvous with Red and the others, but his mind had been in a state of crazed frenzy from the bug-repels. One horrible beatdown and two days of rest later, Scyther had reconsidered his situation. Red had captured him, and thus, had proven his strength. It was only natural for him to expect Scyther's allegiance.

Except that the fool hadn't even demanded it. Then again, he seemed to treat the regal skarmory and that useless shellder equally—a concept fundamentally alien to Scyther. Magmar had always been the strongest, and Shiftry the fastest. Paul had always, always maintained a line between them and Scyther.

So why hadn't Red?

Well, in hindsight, it was probably because Red was not Paul. Scyther hated Paul for abandoning him, and yet, felt a longing for his old trainer. Scyther was curious, confused and happy that Red wasn't Paul, but kept running mental loops questioning just _why_ he wasn't. It was exactly this sort of contradictory thought that was making his life a mess.

And then those two humans had to come in and muddle it up even more.

He had watched Red and the mawile disperse the spider's web with ease and mentally awarded them a few more points. Paul would probably have tried to brute-force his way through them, but acknowledging a successful tactic was common-sense. Skarmory had taken the pinsir and the spider into the forest along with her. A fine attempt, but it did leave Red to deal with the golem.

This was the first time he had the displeasure of seeing one and if he had to find a single word to describe it, it would be _overwhelming_.

It was gigantic. It was monstrous. It was something that even Paul would be helpless against. His scythes would have zero effect on the monstrosity's shell, and worst comes to worst, he'd break his scythes for the second time in three days.

"_Always choose the battles that you will win. There is no point in fighting in an undesirable situation."_

Scyther sighed. And there he went again— yet another mental tangent from previous trainer.

The orangette had, surprisingly enough, taken over the reins of the situation, leaving the idealistic teen to grab the probably-dead growlithe in his arms, and race into the forest. The man responsible for the current situation had wasted no time and sent an unfamiliar blackish canine after them. Sure, the mawile was there and would probably be of some use, but Scyther doubted it would help. On the other hand, there was this rampaging golem to take care of, and Scyther doubted Red would want the orangette dead.

Two days of rest had done him a significant amount of good. He was still not in optimal condition but it would do for now. Besides, he just had to make a single shot count.

He glanced at the golem slamming into the Protect barrier, shattering it with a single blow. The starmie was quite literally blown away.

It was its moment of triumph. Without any further obstacles in his path, the golem would crush both the croconaw and the human.

And at this moment, _no one was watching him._

From his distance, Scyther could see the semi-circular gash inside Golem's shell—an intrusion forcefully created by the sheer power of the earlier water-attack. That move alone gave Scyther newfound respect for the orangette.

**ROARRRRR!**

Scyther's thought process was interrupted by an earthshaking roar. The golem tucked its body in, obviously about to use that viscous rollout again. Still drawing all of the attention from its surroundings. In other words—

_A chance._

His choice made, he slowly extended his scythes, black tendrils creeping across them.

And then Scyther acted.

* * *

As the golem drew closer, Croconaw knew he had to do something. Doing nothing or even dodging meant watching his trainer get reduced to a pile of blood and bone. He didn't think he could stop the attack, but he couldn't just abandon her. He had been with Misty for over ten years. He may not be able to stop this monster but he'd be damned if he gave up without a fight.

Pulling up every last reserve of his physical strength, he stood right in front of his trainer. Despite knowing that his action was futile, he raised his arms upwards determinedly. He would stop this. One way or another.

The golem rushed at him, spinning at full speed. Croconaw raised both arms, preparing to be crushed. At the last moment, he closed his eyes. No matter what he told himself, he wasn't brave enough to watch his rapidly approaching death. Strangely enough, his final thoughts were not about himself but for his trainer. The time they had spent together, back from when he was a baby totodile hatched from an egg. Misty was more than a trainer. She was his father, mother and playmate all rolled into one. She was _family._

_Forgive me. _He thought sadly, waiting for the pain.

He tried not to think about what would happen to his trainer after he was gone.

"..."

Crocanaws sad musings were interrupted by a wail of agony.

_I'm… I'm not dead?_

After a second of confusion, Croconaw slowly opened his eyes.

The golem stood in front of him unmoving, its face twisted in a horrible caricature of pain. Out of the wound that he had bored through its shell with his Hydro Pump— A move that they had spent a ridiculous amount of time mastering —was a long thin scythe shimmering with something dark and shiny and strange. It seemed to suck in all light around it. Upon closer look, he could see tendrils of that inky blackness slowly move into the golem's interior, causing the mountainous beast to groan in agony.

With a screech, the scyther twisted its blade into the shell, driving it deeper until—

**CRACK!**

The sound of something metallic break pierced the atmosphere, followed by a dull squishing sound.

Crocanaw winced.

The golem had turned towards its right and simply fallen sideways crushing the scyther beneath its weight. The scythers blade had not just broken. It had splintered and sent the scyther— bloodied and broken—sprawled across the floor.

_Is.. Is it dead?_

Unfortunately, Croconaw didn't have enough time to check on him. The scyther had created a small window of opportunity, one in which it might be possible to win.

Summoning the very last dredges of his reserves, he summoned another Hydro Pump. The volume was low— croconaw were _not_ built to use Hydro Pump and his reserves were nearly dry —but he'd need to work with whatever he had. Aggregating whatever pitiful, leftover energy he could into his maw, he fired his Hydro Pump.

It was pathetic.

The thin beam of water slammed into the golem head-first and did nothing. Unlike the previous incident, which literally sent the golem flying this did _nothing._

_This isn't enough. I need— I need more. I need more or I'll die. Or else… or all of us will die._

It was in the middle of this acceptance of his own limitations, and the possibility of his own death, that he once again heard _The Call_.

It had been coming for a while now, but every single time, Croconaw had gotten some last-minute vibes about it being… too dangerous, and too soon. While his reserves had long surpassed the standards of the average croconaw, his body still has some space to grow. His trainer had told him that rushing his evolution could lead to stunted growth and he might even lose out on a couple of inches as a feraligatr. Croconaw did not want that. And so he waited.

He had ignored the desire gnawing at the edge of his mind. He had ignored his itching body slowly growing larger and larger. He had ignored the sweet, almost tangible feeling of power that seemed to lie behind the very voice of the call.

No longer.

With his own end being this close, choosing to ignore it might well mean giving up everything in the first place. With that final thought, Croconaw took the plunge and allowed the evolutionary energy to sink in. It happened slowly at first, the energy slowly washing over his body. And then raw power, more than any croconaw was meant to hold, flooded his senses. And then it overwhelmed him.

Croconaw screamed.

He could feel the bones on his wrists begin to creak and finally shatter, only to reform stronger, thicker, and denser. His body extended outward, his tail protruding far more than it ever had. He could feel his muscles contort, tear from the immense pressure and then rebuild just as effortlessly. His nerves burned, and for a moment, Croconaw felt that he'd succumb to the pain before it ended.

And then the feeling of utter invincibility began to set in.

His chest grew larger, and his spine extending outwards. His legs grew thicker, and several layers of tissue formed. He felt himself his neck slowly bend under the weight of his growing jaw. His tail swept over the forest floor, raising a little wind, and his hands stretched out, the claws large and powerful, ready to catch the monster, who for once, did not seem all that large and invincible.

_Feraligatr _let out a fearsome roar.

At that moment, the existence known as pain lay forgotten. His helplessness melted away as did his surroundings. For in that single moment, there was only his enemy, his opponent—someone he had to defeat, _no matter the cost._

He could feel the monstrous strength rise from deep within him. He could not control his new form with the same ease as he could his earlier one, but the brimming reserves inside him were _all _for him to use. New claws— larger, sharper and reformed —dug out of his skin, and etched against the golem's shell as he held it back mid-roll.

Feraligatr gave a predatory stare at the rupture on the golem's shell. It was almost like all of Scyther's contributions—something that had taken _everything _out of the bug, was for this single instance.

Feraligatr stared hard at the golem, and then pushed it _down._

With one hand on the golem's shell and the other stepping on the creature's visible leg, Feraligatr raised his other hand.

And a giant bubble was called into existence. Only, instead of compressed air, this was water rotating at speeds water of volumes so immense that even his original Hydro Pump fell short. Water concentrated with a pressure so large that even Golem's own mass would crumble before it.

His trainer watched him with wonder-filled eyes, as Feraligatr brought down the full power of a Water Pulse down onto Golem, compressing it right into the hole boring into its shell.

And Golem howled in agony.

"SERIOUSLY?" Travers snapped "Ok, This has now passed the limits of acceptable bullshit."

The man slowly reached into his coat.

Feraligatr paid no mind to him, as he roared in triumph, slamming one foot directly on the golem's shell, pushing the defeated beast into the very earth it was born from.

It was no longer moving.

He had won.

With conscious effort, he managed to push himself straight. The newly developed line of bones along the back of his vertebrae was heavier than he had thought. Walking in this new form was going to be a chore.

"Croconaw, you… evolved?"

Feraligatr turned to his right, to face his trainer's eyes—brimming with tears.

"You're—"

**Thud!**

A spray of something dark, hot and crimson coated his trainer's face. Misty's eyes slowly took a glassy appearance, her face twisting into horror and disbelief.

_Why does she look like that? Did something go wrong with my evolution?_

Feraligatr narrowed his eyes at the change.

She was screaming now. Or was she? He felt his vision blur. Why was his trainer upside down? And why was she covered in red? The sky was covered in red too. In fact, everything seemed to be painted with a veil of red.

_What's going on? Was I… Was I doing something?_

Feraligatr was finding it hard to think. Or hear. Or even feel anything. The layer of red that was covering everything was beginning to bother him. He was feeling really sleepy too. Perhaps all of this strangeness would vanish with a little rest.

The red was really beginning to bother him. His trainer kept screaming in the background as well. Why was everyone bothering him. Why wouldn't they just leave him alone. Couldn't they see that he just wanted to sleep for a bit?

Feraligatr felt his eyes begin to close. Sound completely faded as did his other senses. Slowly an inkling of what was happening began to dawn upon him.

Surprisingly he didn't feel sorrow or pain. All he felt was a dull, forced calm.

_At least I can't see the red anymore._

* * *

"_What is this thing, papa?" Six-year-old Misty frowned, looking at the strange object lying in her hands. It was spherical and a little too large for her palms, with colored circles drawn all over it. It looked funny._

"_This," Her father answered with a grin, "is a pokémon egg," He playfully rubbed her hair causing her to scowl, "For you."_

"_For me?" Misty asked, wide-eyed. "You mean?"_

"_Yep!" Her father grinned, "This is going to be your first pokémon. I know you're too young to have a starter, but perhaps this can be a friend."_

"_A friend?" Misty asked, her eyes wide and hopeful._

"_A friend," Her father confirmed. "This little one will be with you when I cannot. It's primed to hatch this week."_

'_Today?" Misty looked up excitedly._

"_Entirely possible." Her father laughed, rubbing her hair again._

_The following week, Misty spent every waking moment near the egg. She talked to it. Ate next to it. Carried it around. Until—_

"_It's happening!" Misty yelled, waking up the entire Waterflower household._

_The top of the egg cracked, the line of fracture slowly tearing its way downhill. With another soft crack, the top tore open, throwing the outer shell down to the floor, and two pairs of large, loopy eyes shot out._

_Misty blinked, watching with wonder as the rest of the head came out. It had a rather large jaw, though its eyes seemed bigger than anything she'd seen beside her elder sister's terrifying Gyarados. It looked adorable._

"_Tatatattataaadile!"_

"_Eeeeeh!" Misty screamed in delight, holding the newly hatched baby closer. The totodile squirmed and laughed louder._

* * *

**Thud!**

The bullet ripped through the Feraligatr's face like it was made of paper. Blood splattered on impact, cutting through the air like a translucent crimson fan. Misty could still feel its warmth as it dripped down her face.

"Croc—" She tried, but words wouldn't come out. A horrible, terrible chill settled deep within her.

"Croco—" She tried again.

Misty took a shaky step forward and then another until she closed the distance between herself and her pokémon. Slowly dropping down to her knees, she slowly extended her hand to touch her fallen friend.

"Croconaw?"

Still no movement. The pushes increased in ferocity. Tears began to run down her cheeks as her heart understood what her mind refused to comprehend. She gripped onto her starters hide even harder uncaring that the sharp scales cutting into her fingers were beginning to draw blood.

"Croconaw," She begged.

The gargantuan beast in front of her let out a long, pronounced breath before his entire body seemed to seize up. A moment later he stopped moving. He almost looked peaceful.

"Croco—Feraligatr, get up. I'm begging you. _Please_."—Misty began to push the unmoving body harder," I said, _get up! GET UP!"_

She began punching into the hide, not even registering the bruises on her skin, as the rock-hard scales cut open her fingers.

And even still, Feraligatr remained unmoving.

* * *

"_No Totodile, that is not the way it is supposed to be!" Misty cried for the nth time, slowly beginning to grow irritated. No matter what she did, the little tyke would keep throwing out Water Gun instead of Bubble. She had gone as far as buying a bubble blower to create little soap bubbles to help him understand._

_Totodile had instead taken to bursting the bubbles, and dancing whenever a bubble burst over his face._

_Misty rubbed the tip of her nose. "Totodile, let's just… let's just start over, okay?_

"_Tatatatatadile!" Came the hyper-excited answer._

"_Fine, now concentrate," Her face twisted into a frown, "remember, no Water Gun, just Bubble. Focus on making a single bubble."_

_Totodile lifted his head up and sprayed her in the face._

_The nine-year-old suppressed the urge to tear her own skin out of irritation and embarrassment. "Oh God, if this keeps up then how the hell will I ever defeat Lily?" She raised her hands above her head and then screamed upwards in frustration. "Gawd!"_

_Little Totodile saw his trainer raise her hands up and yell, and instantly mimicked her, raising his tiny limbs upwards, and dropping his lower jaw down, yelling out in happiness. To add to that, he began to jump around, as if trying to make up for his short stature._

"_Huh? What the hell are you—" Misty began, surprised at her pokémon's sudden behavior. "Why are you dancing all of a sudden? And Totodile, your hands won't go all the way—" she began, seeing the little creature desperately try to raise his stubby little hands above his comparatively larger head._

_Then she noticed her own posture._

"_You—" The rest of the words died down as Misty began to giggle, picking up her innocent little pokémon off the ground and cuddled it._

_A large bubble formed right above Totodile's large face, before it burst, spraying the contained water all over her forehead._

_The room reverberated with peals of laughter._

* * *

Dead.

Gone.

Lost to her. _Forever._

She had lost him—Croconaw. He had just evolved. It was supposed to be his moment. They would celebrate and step forward together like they always had.

But he had been taken away from her.

Her throat constricted, cutting off her breath. Misty thought she'd die from the pain, the unbearable feeling of devastation.

Misty's teeth bared, her as her heartbeat quickened. With the way her entire body was shaking, she was surprised that she was even able to stand upright. She glared at the man holding the gun in front of her, her eyes blazing openly with hate. If looks could kill, this man would have been eviscerated.

"You…"

"Unfortunate," _That man— _the one who had just taken Croconaw away from her—Travers commented offhandedly, a sardonic expression on his face. "And it was a damn fine specimen too."

_That's it? That's all he has to say? That was all he has to say after he killed—_

Her thoughts ran into a frenzy. Crocanaw had been the single constant in her life. Someone that had always been with her. She had grown up beside him, and he had grown to become more than just her pokémon. He had been kin. Family.

Her family. And now he was gone. Forever. And to this man, no, this _monster_…

It meant _nothing._

Misty was born impatient. It was part of her character. She got angry when her sisters teased her. She got angry when someone beat her in a contest. She got angry when her sisters tried to monopolize her dad's attention. And then she got angry when they treated her like a little kid. Quick to enrage and quick to forgive— that's what they used to say about her. But this was different. Gone was the familiar hot bubbling rage that would well within her. This was dark and cold and simmering. This was a sensation that she could not ever remember feeling.

For the first time in her life, Misty truly _hated _someone. The pain of loss felt physical, like something had been torn out of her very self. With the pain came rage flooding through her mind. Not the kind of rage that made her shout and yell, but something cold and freezing, like a blizzard. An all-consuming feeling, one that told her that she could not accept a world that allowed the existence of the person in front of her.

Her mind went blank. She wasn't feeling sorrow, heartbreak or even despair. She wasn't even feeling any anger. Every one of her emotions simply melted away, consumed in her ever-growing hatred.

Misty stood up. One step became two. Two became four. She moved forward, approaching the man in front of her. A part of her mind told her that he had a gun. That he could shoot her. That she could die.

It didn't matter.

She saw the man lifting his gun, slowly pointing towards her.

_Just like Crocanaw._

She kept moving forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	14. Act 1 - Immolation | Chapter 14 -  Broken Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! An early chapter for all of our wonderful readers~

"_From tomorrow onwards, you get Clément's job. Any questions?"_

"_Why? I mean, why me?" Travers asked._

_Proton looked at him, his lips twisted into something that was almost but not quite a smirk, "Unsure of yourself? At this stage?"_

"_Hardly," Travers would have rolled his eyes but knew better than to mindlessly antagonize his boss. Resigning himself to a pronounced sigh, he continued, "on the contrary, I'm wondering why I'm being sent as a…. grunt captain."_

"_Were you expecting something more? An executive, perhaps? Maybe you'd be the one to replace Butch?"_

_Travers stilled at that. A trick question if he ever heard one._

"_I didn't… exactly say that."_

_Proton chortled "What? Did you think that I'd have given you Butch's job if you said yes?"_

"_Uh… no, not at all." Travers mumbled. "It's just that, I was an explorer before I joined Team Rocket. My talents are better served in recon or addressing more stringent issues rather than—"_

"_Don't get all loquacious with me, Travers-boy."_

_And there he went. If there was one thing that Travers hated more than his superior's legendary temper, it was his habit of giving everyone the extra suffix of 'boy' or 'girl'. Seriously, being addressed as 'Travers-boy' in front of his future team-members was a sure way to shred his not-yet-built reputation._

_Proton let out a bark of laughter. "For all your fancy speech, your face gives away your emotions. I can almost read them off your forehead."_

'…_I'll kill the bastard someday.' Travers thought grimly._

"_There is a reason for your promotion," Proton went on. " You'll be working under command of Executive Cassidy from now on, though you'll personally answer to me. You'll get a team of six serving under you, and most of your missions will be centered around… ah… archaeology."_

"…_archaeology?"_

"_That is the word," Proton went on as if that explained everything. "So, keep your eyes open and your ears sharp. Choose your team wisely. I'd have given you a pokémon as an… incentive, but your golem shows quite a lot of potential."_

"_It's a work in progress," Travers replied._

"_Most successful endeavors are," Proton answered airily. "As it stands, you get to start working for Cassidy. I'm told she's got a fetish for large, muscular men."_

_Travers shivered but didn't say anything._

"_Anyway, there is one thing that I do want to give you, as a gift, for managing to pass through Hell,"—Travers mentally agreed—"it is something I always have on my person, and I thought as my student, you should have one too." Proton expressed, before opening the drawer and placing a heavy, metallic object on the table. It was incredibly familiar, though Travers could not fathom why he was given something like this._

"…_a gun?"_

"_Not just a gun, Travers-boy. It is a Thompson Contender, molded to suit a very specific purpose," he held up the gun. Even from his position, Travers could see that it was incredibly heavy and lacked a barrel._

"_A single bullet cartridge? Isn't that a little old-fashioned… sir?"_

"_What use is a barrel of bullets when you can only shoot one, right?" Proton pushed the gun towards his subordinate._

"_Well, It probably is a little inefficient.." Travers agreed cautiously._

"_So, your saying I gave you something useless?"_

_Travers cursed. The fucker obviously had the answer so why was he playing these twisted mind games._

" _No, sir… I meant—"_

"_The bullets," Proton interrupted strongly, "are made of a special alloy, created from the shell of a cloyster. You can't buy these bullets with money. It is propelled with enough force to rip through the armor of an aggron. And it is laced with incredibly potent venom derived from a salazzle, a rare species found in Kalos. I have personally killed a nidoking with it. With a single bullet."_

_He paused for a second. "I have two of these bullets for you. One inside the gun, and the other to keep on your person."_

"_But why only two?"_

_Proton laughed. "Firing something like this… it has massive recoil—the likes of which that can only be handled by a FAL battle rifle. A single shot will be enough to break half the bones in your arm. Do you understand why you won't ever need more than two?"_

_Travers edged away from the trigger-happy maniac that was his superior. "Then why keep something like this in the first place? Why can't I just… use my pokémon?"_

"_And what will you do when your pokémon fail you? You think your golem can crush everything? Feel free to test it out on me." The man grinned evilly._

"_No," Travers backpedaled hurriedly. " I meant—_

"_This is not a tip. It's a prescription. I have had mine for over seventeen years now, and have only used it once. Hopefully, you won't be using it any time soon."_

_Travers stared at his superior's face for a moment. Finding no trace of joviality in the man's eyes, he silently nodded and placed the gun into his coat._

"_Heh," Proton barked out, clapping Travers on the shoulder, "Don't look so glum. An arm's a small price to pay. We can heal that. We can heal pretty much everything here. Except, you know... death."_

* * *

Travers cursed under his breath. All of this… was supposed to be so damned easy. And instead, it had turned into this fucking nightmare.

Meyers was supposed to be a goddamn strong battler, not some inept bastard who'd get himself killed on such a simple mission. And by what? A growlithe? There were so many things _wrong _in that sentence. But that didn't make it any less true.

Meyers was dead. Despite having a semi-competent team of a zangoose, an arbok and what not— he was dead. Killed by the growlithe, and probably by that little shit of a trainer, despite all of his trash talk. His Golem, was now down, crushed and buried into the ground through the combined efforts of the teen and that loathsome Waterflower. Really, he should have known—like father, like daughter.

_Bah!_

The moment he had released the golem, _everything_ should have come to a close. His pinsir and ariados were dealing with the biggest threat— the skarmory. And the remaining pokémon had been dealt with.

And then that croconaw had evolved out of nowhere.

_You've got to be fucking kidding me._

Golem was his magnum opus. His ticket to become a powerful Executive. His monster. It had crushed the staryu easily and the rest would follow soon enough. The scyther had been out of his calculations, but it didn't even last a single blow. It was about to crush the croconaw too. Except now it was evolving, somehow gaining the strength to push his golem into the earth.

_What sick fairy tale is this?_

The damage that each pokémon could do to Golem was mostly mitigated by its armor, but the continued damage had accumulated enough to be noticeable. And then, the feraligatr blew a Water Pulse straight into its shell.

Travers hesitated for a long moment, before pulling out a familiar weapon. He was _done _playing games. This was hardly the first time he had come across a scenario that had demanded he take extreme measures, but he had never been pushed _this_ far. Now though…

Pinsir and Ariados were away, engaged with the skarmory. The fact that they had yet to return spoke volumes about the skarmory's prowess as a battler.

Mightyena was on the growlithe's trail. Which meant he wouldn't have to worry too much about the kid.

Most importantly, Golem was down, and unmoving. And in its place, there was a _feraligatr _of all things— freshly evolved and in perfect condition to attack him.

And he had nothing to fight back with.

_And this was supposed to be a fucking vacation._

Cursing his rotten luck, Travers took aim and fired.

The feraligatr never saw it coming. And neither did the girl for that matter.

A single hit was all that was required. The bullet smashed through the feraligatr's skull, killing it instantly.

_Good. _Traver scowled. He had to bite into his tongue to hold off the subsequent scream as he was thrown back, the bones in his wrist shattering from the recoil.

_Filthy beast._

The girl, however, was a completely different jar of worms. Her pokémon's death had put her into a state of shock.

_Natural. She has yet to experience the brutality of the world. Attaching herself to tools… how naive._

Not that he'd complain. If anything, it made the job easier. Travers slowly stood up Now all he had to do was—

_Is she fucking charging at me?_

The girl clearly wasn't thinking. She was charging towards a trained man. A terrorist in her eyes. Who had a gun. And had just killed her pokémon. Did she have no self-preservation instincts?

_I'm fucking done with this shit._

Travers did not warn her again. He did not ask her to stop. He did not dodge or move in to block her charge. Instead, he raised his gun and moved right into her path.

And smashed her in the head with the side of his gun.

She dropped like a rock.

* * *

_This is messed up. There is no way that Mawile can deal with a pinsir. And it working together with an ariados. In a forest! What was I thinking?_

Red cursed himself over and over, sprinting through the forest. He had allowed Mawile to run alongside him at first, but after hearing the growls behind him, he had picked her up and sprinted at full speed. He didn't know exactly what was that was on his trail, but it was probably too much to ask for that it was a harmless pokémon that gave out friendly growls.

And now, after around ten minutes of rushing through the forest, he felt like he was lost in no man's land, with a predator closing in to boot. And Skarmory was still a no-show.

He felt the growlithe try to shift in his grip and slightly loosened his hold. Seriously, there was no way that this was normal. Red was no medic, but his years at the ranch had given him a significant understanding on how long it took for injuries to recuperate. He knew that an arbok's grip could crush boulders. Growlithe's bones should have been _pulverized. _Yet, here it was, slowly moving its head around, almost like it had been disoriented in a regular skirmish and was slowly waking up.

_What the hell is this thing? Is it even a growlithe?_

He slowed down, trying to listen for any sounds nearby. A single glance at Mawile confirmed his suspicions. Whatever was following them had probably lost their scent somewhere along the way. Either that, or it was laying a trap. Either way, mindless running forward would lead them to nowhere.

They needed a plan.

"Let's break for a while." He muttered, allowing Mawile to leap down from his arms onto the forest floor. The growlithe shifted in his arms groaning loudly. Worried that something had gone wrong, he pressed against the creature's back, checking it for wounds he might have missed.

_Already hard and growing back in place. This isn't healing. This is…_

His eyes widened in disbelief, the answer already on his lips.

"Regeneration."

Regeneration wasn't exactly super rare. In fact, it was quite common for grass-types. A bulbasaur could regrow vines to their full capacity in a matter of hours. Pidgey were able to regenerate all but the most lethal damage on their wings. And bugs were practically regenerating all the time. Several pokémon showed limited signs of regeneration in some form or another. But to see it occur on this scale was mind-boggling. The bones were literally rearranging themselves in front of his very eyes.

_Holy shit._

"The old man is going to think I'm making it up. God knows I would, if not for…" He glanced at the growlithe in his arms. It was beginning to stir.

"Don't move too much. I'll protect you." He whispered to the injured animal. It was unclear if the growlithe had comprehended his words, but it did stop shaking.

_Small mercies._

"Mawile, do you sense anything?" Red asked, looking around. The forest had grown even darker, if that was possible, and Flash was not an option. While it would help them see, it would also advertise their location to everyone in the vicinity. This was like being hunted by that zangoose all over again.

"Wawa!" Mawile responded in the negative.

"If anything attacks, use Flash at full power and follow it up with Iron Head. Whatever you do, don't hold back. Okay?"

"Wile!" Mawile grinned, happy at receiving what was essentially _carte-blanche _for the following fight.

"Good."

Red thought about releasing Shellder, but the water-type was way too moody to be dependable. There was no guarantee that Shellder would be able to perform his technique on demand. That left one other option.

Hastily, he pulled out a camp knife from his socks. It was part of a trainer's traveling equipment, though surprisingly enough, this was the first time he had ended up needing it since he entered the forest. Satisfied with his preparations, he gently placed the growlithe upon the floor.

_On second thought…_

He quickly released Shellder, allowing the little water-type to attach itself onto his hand. This was unconventional, but considering how hard its shell was, he mused it could be used as a makeshift shield.

_A flashlight, a knife, and a shellder. Sounds like the opening of a bad joke._

A soft growl answered his unvoiced thoughts.

"… Right. I had to ask."

* * *

_Next time someone steals my poképuffs, I'm going to be philanthropic and benevolent. No amount of poképuffs is worth this. In fact— in fact, the next time Orange does anything to annoy me, I'm just gonna ignore her. Shellder will take revenge for me anyway. Poetic justice and all that._

Mawile heard the growl and cursed under her breath. Whatever was around was taking advantage of the darkness while she was glowing like a flashlight. And she was supposed to be the deceptive one.

_Well, it's not like I play fair either._

Mawile grinned, and harnessed her powers, summoning the ice. A second later, she released it, thinning it out as it spread outward in a larger radius. The dim light from her flash dissipating into the entire Mist all around her.

A single illusory clone materialized in the middle of it a second later.

The trap was set. All that remained was for her… predator to leap into it. Oh, and hopefully her trainer would not do something stupid.

A few seconds later, her prayers were answered.

A large canine with fur as black as the darkness itself leaped from the shadows into the mist, aiming for the mawile-clone. It bit into the illusory form, dissipating it instantly. Before it could comprehend what had just happened, something _hard _slammed into one of its hind-limbs, making the beast cry out in pain.

Mawile smirked maliciously, before retreating back into the mist

The long-drawn events of the evening were beginning to take their toll on her. She wouldn't be lasting much longer.

_I'll need to finish this quickly._

Mawile moved again, raising her jaw— the steel energy forming a boundary layer on its surface.

In hindsight, that was a mistake.

The gathered steel-energy was practically a beacon amidst the mist, and this time, her opponent had been ready for it. Mawile moved in for the kill, but the creature had other intentions. It bent down, expertly dodging Mawile's blow, before it struck— its forelimbs slammed into her jaw, pushing her down into the ground.

Mawile cried out in pain, as the sheer force behind the attack sent her scraping through the ground, bruising her face. She tasted blood. Knowing better than to stay in one place during a battle of survival, she contorted her body—

And came inches close to death.

* * *

Red witnessed Mawile's attempt at getting the better of the nightmarish creature end in disaster and acted immediately. This was pure instinct, and for once, he allowed it to drive his action.

Red rushed forward and slammed Shellder into the creature's face, forcing it off his starter. The canine whimpered in pain, before growling at the sudden intrusion between itself and its prey. Not that he cared.

"_Stay the fuck away from Mawile!"_ he hissed, his rage overcoming his fear and revulsion of the creature. His fingers clenched the knife tighter, while he held onto the other side of Shellder's shell tightly. Its shell was hard enough that a blunt strike to the head would cause significant damage. It was either that or to wait for an opening to show itself. And Red was done with waiting for chances.

The creature leaped into the air, only to fall down unceremoniously, letting out a whimper. Clearly Mawile's attack must have fractured its leg.

_Okay, think of it as a growlithe. A large, rabid growlithe with large fangs. I'll need to score a direct hit to the head again. Or that thing will tear me to pieces. But to do that with this knife…_

Then it dawned upon him.

_Oh, I'm so fucked._

He gazed at the large fangs of the creature and involuntarily shuddered. This was why he should have steered clear of any temptations and stuck to the normal, League-sanctioned path through the forest. His eyes never leaving his attacker, he brought his knife to his mouth and bit into it with his teeth. Then his hand edged closer to his belt.

The creature's eyes followed his every movement. It slowly pushed itself off the ground before crouching in preparation for a frontal attack.

"Any chance you can just leave? You know, violence isn't always the answer"

A furious snarl was his answer.

_I suppose it just turning around and leaving would be too much to ask for.._

The mad canine leaped for a second time, quickly traversing the distance between them, and pounced upon Red, who did the only thing he could.

Push his right hand— with Shellder hanging on it —into its fanged jaw.

The powerful fangs of a predator met the simple shell of the shellder. It was found lacking. With a loud crack, the beasts tooth actually snapped. The creature whimpered in pain and threw its head back causing Shellder to fall onto the ground.

Red had to give the pokémon credit. It had been trained excellently. It collected itself within a second and immediately evaluated its surroundings. Judging Red as the biggest threat, it crouched in preparation for its next move.

Unfortunately, Shellder had other plans.

Red could only watch with fascination as Shellder leaped off from the ground, and clamped onto one of the creature's ears, squealing and screeching in a high-pitched tone. The screeching grated on his nerves, causing him to grit his teeth. It was almost supernatural. It was intense, loud and was in an incredibly high pitch. And that's when it hit him.

_Shellder was using Screech._

Come to think of it, Red had seen it happen, several times in fact, during Misty's attempts at teaching Shellder how to manipulate pressure. Of course, back then he had simply considered the squeals as Shellder's attempt to communicate. The fact that Shellder was actually developing a move had not even crossed his mind.

Ignoring the harsh noise that made him want to tear his own skin off, Red glanced at the blackish creature, howling in pain as it tried its best to grind Shellder into the ground— something that it found near impossible, seeing that Shellder was effectively on top of its head —followed by futile attempts at throwing it off.

_Not very effective. _Red noted deliriously. This was seriously beginning to feel like a dream to him.

The hound continued trying to shake off Shellder and Shellder continued screeching directly into its ear. At one point, the creature was even trying to claw it off using its paws.

And then it happened.

Red had almost seen it coming. With a final squeal, Shellder un-clamped itself from the creature's ear, and spit out water droplets. Hundreds of them.

While it wasn't the single high-pressure bullet of water he envisioned when he first tried to teach Shellder the move, it was still scarily effective. In effect, the water droplets almost acted like shrapnel from when a bomb exploded. Right into the beast's face.

It screamed out in pain, as hundreds of tiny water droplets slammed into its skull— some going through its ear with the rest cutting into its head. A stunned Red watched as the creature was flung across the ground, away from Shellder who unceremoniously dropped to the forest floor. Its head now covered in blood and littered with small wounds. It stirred.

_It's still getting up after that?_

Without hesitation, Red raised an empty pokéball and sucked the injured creature in. The instant it got sucked in, he sent it flying towards Mawile.

"Get ready!"

Mawile was only too happy to receive it.

The blackish creature belonged to Travers. It was captured, and probably even registered to his Trainer ID. As such, another person's pokéball would simply release it a few seconds after it was captured. A few, incredibly crucial seconds.

Just as expected, the pokéball burst open, liberating an extremely annoyed, albeit disoriented beast that grunted in rage and pain from the previous attack. Red could literally feel its fury. It would probably kill them quite brutally given the chance. A chance that it would never get.

Mawile had already positioned herself even before it had been released from the ball. The black hound's last sight was an enormous steel mouth enveloping its head.

_ **CHOMP!** _

Red winced.

He feels slightly ill-at-ease at what had just been committed. Truth be told, he had expected Mawile to slam it with an Iron Head and simply ended the fight.

_Then again, can I really blame her?_

He turned back to his starter, doing his best to ignore the patches of red plastered all over her black jaw. Even through all of this, her entire body was glowing dimly— an effect of the passive use of Flash.

"Well, that was something wasn't it?" He chuckled mirthlessly, pointedly ignoring the dead beast beside them. He slowly got up before walking towards Shellder and picking him up.

"You okay, Mawile? And you buddy?"

Shellder squeaked enthusiastically, almost like they had been playing a really interesting game and it was its turn now.

Red sweatdropped. "Mawile?"

A lone grunt was his answer. It wasn't a very happy one.

* * *

_"Travers, I'm sending you to work with Doctor Namba on the Nihilo project. He seems to have run into some kind of... twist."_

"_Namba? Isn't he working in the Viridian Forest warehouse?"_

"_Correct", Cassidy nodded briskly, "Namba's on something big, and with the way he's panicking, it's something that needs a personal touch. I wouldn't trust the dimwits stationed there. Though from what I understand, it won't be very tedious."_

"_You need ME in a warehouse?" Travers arched an eyebrow. "Don't you have any of the grunt-lings for that? And here I was expecting something fitting… of my new position."_

"_Stop being a peacock, Mr. Would-be-Executive. Either way, with the Collapse Protocol being underway, and make sure you keep your mouth shut about—"_

"_Mouth shut? I'm not the one that has a habit of blabbing, Miss Senior Executive," Travers teased._

"_It was unintentional, and you'd know better than to open your mouth and—"_

"_Let everyone know that Executive Cassidy loves post-coital gossip," He smirked, before moving his hand across his lips, as if zipping them, "Not a word."_

_A tiny blush formed on her cheeks. "Now just get on with your mission. I have more important things to do. Enjoy your vacation."_

"_Yes, Ma'am."_

…

…

A vacation she said. It'll be fun she said. Some time off before you have to deal with the responsibilities of your new position. This was supposed to be a _fucking _vacation.

Capture a single fugitive bitch of a growlithe and bring it back, and oh yes, _failure _was not an option.

_Big Deal!_

He had spread his team all across the forest, hoping they'd managed to spot and take care of it. And after that, he'd return to his premises, and perhaps try for another night at Cassidy's apartment.

Which would probably never happen now. With a grunt he began to move towards the golem, taking extra care to step on the Waterflower girl's back as he did so.

_Fucking Waterflowers._

"Golem," He shouted.

No response.

"Get up. Now." Travers tried again.

It did not move.

The utter absurdity of the scenario was slowly getting on his nerves. Losing a half-decent operative, even someone as talkative as Meyers, had gotten on his nerves. Seeing his prized golem buried by a feraligatr that magically evolved to save the day had been the straw that broke the numel's back.

"Last chance, or it is going to get ugly!" He warned.

Still, no reaction.

That was what disconcerted him. He immediately raised golem's pokéball and was about to return it when a single stone fragment flew up and latched onto the golem's cracked shell.

And then another. And another.

_So that's what happening. It's shut down and is healing itself…_

He considered returning it once more. There was a slight chance that the precocious boy was still alive. Somehow.

_Mightyena's still out there, along with Ariados and Pinsir._

He glanced at the golem.

_Might as well._

"On my own then," He sighed. Speaking of which, Mightyena should have been back by now. Perhaps the kid was more nimble than he thought. Still, that was his starter. There was no way that the kid would be walking out of the forest alive.

…

…

Still, this was taking way too long.

Travers had not gotten to where he was by ignoring his instincts. With a curse, he injected an anesthetic into his broken arm. Grunting painfully, he moved the gun into the other one and started moving towards the forest.

_For your sake, I hope you are dead. Or I'm going to make you wish you were._

* * *

Skarmory weaved through the air effortlessly, ignoring the streaks of poisonous web that the ariados shot towards her. She might not have spent a lot of time with humans in general, but she believed herself to be a fair judge of personality. The clown— Travers —was a _fighter, _in the truest sense of the word. Skarmory had seen him gazing at her, then back to the collective union of Red and Misty's team, and then back at her again. It was woefully clear to anyone with a modicum of sense that he was evaluating the group. Trying to identify the most major threat.

Which was Skarmory.

No surprises there. She was a King after all, and it was only natural that any half-decent fighter— even if he was the human clown —would identify her as the most perilous opponent. That was why he had brought out the pinsir— to help the spider-abomination in its feeble attempts at trying to best her.

Skarmory scoffed. The very thought was a depravity of the highest order.

The pinsir, on the other hand, was _strong. _Scratch that, it was right up there with those chieftains back at the Vortigern. It did not have the sheer strength of the chieftain nidoking, but the culmination of its skills made it a far greater threat than any of those back at the mountain. Still, if the pinsir was alone, it could be dealt with. Loathe as she was to admit it, it was actually the spider that was causing a problem— spinning webs all over the place and destroying her momentum every single time she tried to pull off a quick maneuver.

Which was probably their plan from the very start. The pinsir would be the attacking arm, while the spider shat webs all over the place keeping Skarmory from effectively utilizing her aerial mobility.

Not that it had worked. As a king, battle tactics were something she knew a lot about.

"_A battle must always be fought on one's own terms_," the old monarch used to say. She wouldn't have been a good king if she went into battle brazenly, after all.

The pinsir was overwhelmingly strong. Stronger than her. But at the same time, it was _slow_. Sure, it was hardly stationary, but Skarmory believed that Mawile could outrun it in a fair race. Not that the little trickster would ever deign to play fair in the first place.

The spider was a trickster— quick on its feet though limited to short-ranged movements. While its poison was quite useless when pitted against the magnificence of her own steel coat the webs were incredibly frustrating. They didn't actually cause her any damage, and she could rip through them within a few seconds. Unfortunately, those few seconds were more than enough to completely ruin her momentum, her ability to land attacks and, on rare occasions, allow the pinsir to get a good hit in. Skarmory didn't think it was possible to hate the web-shitter any more than she did at that moment.

_This is taking longer than I thought. My trainer and his accomplice will have to deal with the clown in my absence. Not that I expect anything less from them. My trainer is resourceful enough._

That said, like all trained pokémon, the duo was utterly predictable. They were simply repeating the same technique-combination over and over, as their master had commanded. Skarmory would have been slightly hesitant to defer to the human as their master, but given their religious deference to the man's orders, and their own lack of self-thought, the master-tag wasn't probably that outrageous.

And so, she had begun to switch between tactics mid-battle, just like Red preferred. She couldn't say it enough—Red was a worthy trainer, fit to train a King. He knew his limits and respected her own. A rather surprising trait, but not at all unwelcome in her eyes.

It was, after all, what made him invaluable in her eyes.

She dodged the next set of threads that the ariados sent at her, before swooping down with a steel wing. Just as predicted, the pinsir leapt to the front, horns raised to impale her with it. The ariados leaped back, two steps behind the pinsir and prepared its next attack.

_Now it will use Smog._

The ariados lifted its maw and liberated a dense cloud of toxic substances into the atmosphere. Skarmory made sure not to breathe as she swerved to the side. A clever technique. Unlike other poison techniques, Smog employed aerosols that could affect her if she breathed them in. They had the advantage of bypassing physical barriers entirely.

Just as predicted, the pinsir leaped off the ground with surprising ease, hurling itself into the air, aimed for where Skarmory had been a moment ago. It was here that the pinsir would have struck her, impaling her armor with its mighty horns.

Skarmory glanced at her abdomen. She had nearly gotten impaled when the duo had performed the technique for the first time. This time though, she had gotten off without a hitch.

_Fool me once… _She thought contemptuously.

She weaved through the air, catching the pinsir off-guard and slashed at its sides, tearing a gash beneath its left shoulder. The pinsir groaned momentarily before falling down to the floor face-first. The ariados, quite understandably, panicked and attacked her directly. Skarmory paid it no attention, ignoring the dozens of poison threads as her wings cut through them effortlessly.

_Is it.. dead?_

Skarmory regarded the pinsir carefully. It could be a trap. What if it was laying in wait for her. What if it tried to attack when she swooped down. What if—

_Ok, this is getting beyond obnoxious._

The ariados would not stop. Even though the threads were not actually doing anything, it just kept throwing them at her. Tired of the seemingly endless game, Skarmory swooped above the ariados in preparation to end the battle. At the very least, it could go down in life knowing that it had fallen before the might of a King. After all, it was her duty to ensure that all commoners— friend or foe —learned to dream big.

Not to be shown up, the little thing raised its frontal appendages, their endings glowing with toxic substances and slashed at Skarmory's armor. Being the benevolent king that she was, it was only proper for her to allow the spider its chance at defeating her. She was supposed to take care of peasants. Yes, there was definitely something to be said about giving Ariados a fighting chance.

She considered her thick and nigh impenetrable armor.

Okay, the ariados wouldn't _really _have a fighting chance, but at least the appearance of one. It'd be able to put up a decent struggle, which was more than its entire species deserved.

Yes, she was a magnanimous king.

_Poor thing._

"You done yet?" She asked, gazing down at the ariados, who was still trying to etch into her armor with its little appendages.

"Don't you look down on me." The ariados shot back, spewing out a mesh of webs, aimed for Skarmory's face.

Twisting her head out of the web's trajectory, Skarmory arched an eye. "That's kinda difficult for me. Don't know if your human master ever told you, but you're kind of a runt."

Another torrent of webs was all she received in answer.

"She's an acquired taste."

Skarmory did not hesitate. The moment she heard the words, she pushed herself off the ground, narrowly missing another attempt at impalement. The pinsir had somehow gotten up from the fetal position it had been curled up in and had returned to fight with a vengeance.

"Can't say I agree, since I haven't acquired _her yet." _Skarmory shot back, as she soared upwards.

The pinsir answered with a Silver Wind attack. The scales flying in the wind exploded all around Skarmory, throwing her off her path. She moved up, narrowly missing a third strike.

"This is so annoying. Can you just give up now? All this movement is troublesome."

Skarmory blinked. Well, for something that looked like a vicious bug-monster, the pinsir was exceedingly _polite._

She looked further, when a rather surprising object met her sight. It was Mawile, and right above her, slowly creeping on the branch just above the ariados was—

_What the hell does he think he's doing?_

* * *

_This is going to suck._

With that not-so-cheerful thought, Red crawled closer to the ongoing altercation, careful to not attract attention from the pinsir or the ariados. Showing up on the ground would serve as a distraction to Skarmory— _not an option —_and more importantly, neither the ariados nor the pinsir was anything he or Mawile could fight by themselves.

Thus, the current choice.

In short, he had climbed a tree. The unfortunate encounter with that beast— an unknown, non-native pokémon—had left its fair share of wounds on his body. He had thought that he had dodged the slashes, but that hadn't been entirely true. After the adrenaline rush had receded so to had the numbness that had enveloped his body. Which included his ability to ignore pain. There, along his right leg, was long, drawn-out scratch from the beast's claws.

It was fortunate that his tight jeans would keep the blood loss at a minimum. Still, he needed treatment and he needed it quickly, and for that, he needed Skarmory to get past these two and return to fight the golem. Misty was counting on him after all. And who knew what other nightmarish creature Travers kept in his deceptively small pockets.

_Speaking of which, I needed to tell the old man. Regional pok_é_dex are shit. Like, worse than useless._

He glanced at Mawile. She was obviously exhausted and injured from her fight. He'd have returned her to the pokéball, but she had refused to leave him alone. Sometimes he got the feeling that she didn't trust him to keep himself out of trouble.

Night had enveloped the forest, and if not for the constant silver flashes around Skarmory, and the moonbeams filtering past the canopies, the entire area in front of him would have been submerged within the darkness.

_At least Mawile doesn't need to hold up Flash anymore. Poor thing needs to rest. Come to think of it, we all do. This whole forest thing… it's been a mess._

Red shook his head. His mind was going all over the place.

He shook his head again, and glanced below, and met Skarmory's eyes….

And her scowl.

_She doesn't look very happy._

He glanced down at the ariados underneath her, constantly trying to get closer and slash against her armor.

_Futile. The ariados is well trained, but it is just too ill-suited to dealing with Skarmory._

Speaking of which, her armor was now full of dents, most likely from the pinsir's attacks, and from the way she was having to dodge them, it was obvious that her fight had been reduced to a stalemate at best, and a battle of attrition at worst.

_I need to do something. Anything._

The ariados fired another meshwork towards Skarmory, enough to break her stride, causing her to deviate midway from attacking the pinsir head-on. The bird screeched in annoyance and shot upwards, her wings glowing brightly with Steel Wing. The ariados immediately pushed back allowing the pinsir to move forward in a defensive stance, reading to face Skarmory's frontal assault.

_A pre-planned attack pattern. Ariados breaks Skarmory's attack and the pinsir uses those openings to try to get a hit in. But what if I… yes, this can possibly work._

Making sure not to lose his balance, his hands slowly moved towards his belt. Reaching for his last pokéball, he pulled it hard. The little device rolled out of its safe pocket, into his fingers and—

_Oh shit._

The little device slipped from his half-open palm and dropped down towards the floor. With a silent pop, it fell on the forest floor. Red would have cursed out in frustration, if not for the fact that he had a knife between his teeth.

_There goes my plan._

He saw Skarmory let out a wild screech, her wings now brightly lit with steel energy. In the darkness around, she was practically a second sun, a glowing phoenix, burning with dazzling light. Red almost cringed at the luminosity and glanced down, watching the spider take some steps back to counter the bright light hurting its eyes.

_This is my chance._

And then he jumped.

His initial idea had mirrored his previous execution— use the pokéball to capture the ariados and then drop it right in front of Skarmory who could tear it apart in a single slash.

With that option no longer available, he had planned— in a burst of heroic inspiration —to leap down upon the spider's back, and then stab the devilish creature with his knife, right through the head. It would have been a nasty piece of work, but he'd do it if it meant that they would get to live.

There was just one thing he hadn't taken into account.

Ariados were sensitive to bright light and hence preferred to live in the shadows. Because of this, they had developed an extremely powerful sixth sense— the ability to determine foreign presence through their heat signature.

And therein lay the crux of the problem.

Before he could even reach the ground, the spider seemed to sense his presence, and instantly leaped out of his reach, causing him to fall down with a loud thud, and a rather loud groan of pain. He winced as he tasted blood. Normally he would have taken a moment to check himself but there were more important things going on. Things like the lone pokéball sitting right beside him.

He looked up.

The ariados was on the adjacent tree trunk. The pinsir was facing Skarmory, horns stretched out.

Both of them were turning towards him.

Red reacted instantly. He grabbed the pokéball with his right hand and aimed it at the spider—

_Where is it?_

**PAIN!**

The massive spider loomed above it impaling one appendage into his right hand. Red screamed. His arm was already turning numb, probably a side effect of its venom. He was trapped, his own hand holding him captive against the ariados. He could hear Mawile let out a scream of shock and approach, only for the spider to shoot two webs towards her, binding her against the tree trunk.

And then the ariados opened its maw, droplets of thick, viscous liquid dropping beneath her jaws and falling on Red's collar.

He reacted instinctively, moving his free arm in front of his face. That probably saved his life. Though it wasn't a particularly pleasant sensation, the fangs being buried into his forearm was infinitely preferable to it ripping through his face.

_Is this…? _Red thought deliriously. _Is this it?_

Ariados, surprisingly enough did not have the strongest jaws. They would capture their prey in their powerful webs and then used acid to liquefy them over the next several hours. Their venom, while poisonous, was mostly used as a numbing agent, to prevent struggling. It was still lethal to humans, but it was quite slow acting.

_It's not like I can play the waiting game here. It's far stronger than I am._

He winced, as his it slowly began to crush him, using its superior strength and leverage to push his arm down. Then he noticed Skarmory.

The large avian had swerved out of her dive towards the pinsir, and was instead rushing towards the ariados, ready to tear the creature into pieces to save him. This was regardless of the fact that the pinsir had a counterattack ready—

"_Skarmory, NO!"_

Skarmory flew right over the pinsir's form completely ignoring the threat that the pinsir presented. Red watched with muted horror as skarmory allowed the pinsir to gouge its metal horns into her abdomen. It obviously hurt a lot. But she ignored it completely and despite her obvious anguish, despite the fact that he could _see _the blood dripping out of her wound, she still moved forward.

The pinsir pushed it horns harder, eliciting an angry screech from the bird. And yet, even amidst the pain, the regal bird pushed further still—an action that actually pushed the horns even deeper into her body —all in an attempt to get to the spider currently hovering over him.

To protect him.

_She ... to save me? … Why?_

It felt… _alien. _It was hardly the first time that he had run into trouble, and sooner or later, someone had always helped him get out of the mess. But for a pokémon to do so— Mawile he knew was incredibly protective of him, and even Skarmory shared that sentiment— but to go this far was—

It was incredible. It was… It was…

The ariados moved instantly as it saw the avian dart closer. Ignoring the mutilating attack on its person, it managed to push itself upward and prepared to leap towards the opposite tree trunk. Right at Mawile.

Red reacted immediately.

He ignored the dull throb on his now punctured arm, and wrenched it around the spider's back, squeezing it hard and holding it against his chest. He could feel the spider began to resist, obviously caught off-guard. It tried to slash at him with its legs, but unfortunately, its anatomy didn't allow it to bend that way.

Regardless, Red would not let go. He'd not let Skarmory's contribution go in vain.

With incredible effort, he pushed his head upward, ignoring the scratches and burns on his chest. His other hand which was lying limply on the forest floor closed in on the knife, that was laying there, forgotten.

The ariados's face edged closer.

"Dodge this!"

He moved his arm upward— straight through the ariados's chin. With a sickening crunch, it collapsed on him.

* * *

"_You've disappointed me, Skarmory. I told you to cease your endless antagonism towards the Rhydon herd. Why do you betray your king's orders?"_

_Skarmory stood her ground. She was no longer the little youngling hiding in her grandfather's shadow. She was strong, and powerful, and fighting under her king's banner. The king ordered from the caves on the top of Vortigern, but it was Skarmory that saw those orders executed._

"_I will never understand your reasoning, grandfather. Why do bend over backward to serve these… plebeians? Why must you accede to their demands every single time?"_

_The regal king looked at his protégé with something akin to sadness. "Is it wrong for a king to serve his subjects? The great mountain serves us, and that is why it stands so tall and mighty. That is why it is worthy of our respect. Why must the king of the mountain not emulate the behemoth itself?"_

_The young avian looked away. She had seen thirteen monsoons since her birth, but even so, she had seen them from her cave, glancing down at a populace that she was meant to preside over. The Lord Vortigern might be a colossal image up there in the sky, but Skarmory was the one taking care of most skirmishes on the battlefront. The King, however, would never agree with her counsel._

"_I've often found that it is better to simply speak your thoughts. Keeping them confined within your mind may cause them to fester. " The old king counseled._

_Skarmory looked up. She wasn't king yet, but she would someday. And to be one, she needed to stand up for something. So… why not this?_

"_I believe you have reversed the concept, grandfather."_

_The Lord of Vortigern narrowed his eyes. "Oh? How so?"_

_Skarmory looked up. The person standing in front of her wasn't her grandfather. Instead, it was an ideal of kingship, an ideal she had grown under, but not one she had embraced. "A king does not devote himself to the people. It is the people who must devote themselves to the king."_

"_Those are the words of a brutal tyrant, youngling." The elder avian warned. "Not a just and benevolent king."_

"_That may be," the young bird admitted. "But are you not a king because you're a tyrant? People follow you because they fear your prowess, not because they cherish your benevolence."_

_The elder sighed. "It seems that staying under my shadow has had an adverse impact on your psyche.."_

"_Not true." Skarmory disdained. "It has only allowed me to see past the tainted lens you look through. Those people… those tribes, they fear me because of my power. Because I'll never ignore any slight upon my honor. You are simply an old man and a fool, one who'd bend backward to fulfill their every demand. A King…?" Skarmory sneered, "if you heard what I heard, you'd know that you are just a glorified slave."_

"_And what would you have me to do instead?"_

"_Bring them down!" Skarmory declared. "Remind them of the power held by the Vortigern."_

_The elder sighed, looking away. "I am a fool. To think that you were ready." He met Skarmory's eyes with a steady gaze. "A just ruler, guided by just laws. Those are the duties of a king. Glorified slave or not, a king is a martyr to his ideals."_

"_That is not how a person should live. If that is what you are heading towards, Grandfather, then I will save you. I will prove it to you that you are wrong."_

_Never did she know that her words would prove prophetic, in the most ironic way possible._

* * *

Skarmory saw the ariados stab its leg into Red's arm. The spider had instantly reacted to Red's fall and had skewered him to the ground.

_No!_

She let out a vicious screech. Ariados venom was _dangerous. _Sure, it had little to no effect if it couldn't bypass armor, but Red didn't have that advantage. The leg that was impaled into Red's arm was dripping poisoning into him. Skarmory wasn't sure just how damaging it was, but being pumped with anything like that couldn't be good.

And that was when everything changed. For one moment, Skarmory was back on the Vortigern, and the creature in front of her wasn't an ariados, but a hulking rhyperior, grunting in victory over the entity on the rocky terrain. One of its massive limbs was crushing a large steel wing and its other arm was trying to shatter the entity's skull, only to be stopped by another wing.

Skarmory paled, the strength in her form leaking away, as terror began to permeate her form.

_Grand… father…_

Her grandfather looked up at her, and smiled— _smiled —_at her_._

"_LEAVE" — _He ordered her, as her king, as her grandfather, as her only teacher and father-figure.

"_Save yourself!"_ She heard him say before another fist came slamming down upon his bent wing.

Several shards of metal tore open, leaving the wing twisted at odd angles.

"_Save… Yourself!"_ She heard him whisper. "_Grow strong and save your kingdom!"_

Another punch tore through the air, this time aiming for her king—her grandfather's head.

And something within Skarmory _shattered._

Gone was the would-be king, gone was the benevolent dictator that played with her enemies, believing in giving them an illusion of a chance before ending their lives. Gone was the skarmory that had thought of a human as a trainer, a teacher— a means to an end —the grand king that demanded everyone follow the law that she put down.

The one in the air, her wings outspread and shining bright silver— was the broken descendant—witnessing the end of everything she had cherished in life. This was the defeated hand of the king, the one that had stood to protect her king but had utterly failed in doing so, and now— and now—

Skarmory screeched.

"_Go… away! Save yourself!"_

Skarmory glided downwards towards the massive rhyperior. She'd stop it. She could stop it. She had the power. Rhyperior could not see behind them. She'd tear its spine inside out, and send it falling down the pit to its death. She'd… she'd…

_ **HURRKKK!** _

The image of the Vortigern vanished. So did the rhyperior, and so did her grandfather's figure, minutes before his demise. Instead, she found herself back into the forest, with the ariados preying upon her trainer… her trainer who'd trained her healed her, taught her, fed her, empathized with her, and proved himself worthy of her over and over.

That was the person that the ariados had pierced with its appendages, and was slowly killing.

"_LEAVE! Save yourself!"_

_Never…._

_ **HURRKKK** _ _!_

Shocked at the sudden incomprehensible feeling of… _pain? Is this… really how pain feels?_

Skarmory glanced downwards towards her own abdomen.

_How silly of me... Of course, it is pain. The steel went through the armor._

Somehow, the thought seemed to provide her a little amusement.

The pinsir's horns had impaled into her armor, past her unilateral layer of Iron Defense, past her powerful steel armor, and struck her insides, driving the metallic appendages into the soft tissue. Skarmory screeched deliriously, raising one wing ahead—not out of pain, but to grab the ariados that lay a little…

...just a little out of her reach.

She reached out, and with every movement forward, the horns dug in deeper, tearing a little more into her inner muscles, sending repeated jolts of pain up her spine. An attack on body tissue like this was hardly lethal. Something like a charmander, or a raticate would be able to shirk off such pain. After all, they were used to it.

But Skarmory had never even experienced such pain. The greatest injuries she had ever suffered had always been superficial, never penetrating her armor. She likened the pain to that of losing a limb.

And yet, she strived forward.

_A little more. Just a little… A little more._

Her horror only grew as she witnessed the twisted scene unfolding in front of her. The spider was dripping venom upon Red slowly moving closer towards Red's face.

_How dare you?_

She let out a fearsome screech and moved forward even faster.

_Just a little… further._

_ **SKEWRCH!** _

The spider convulsed, before collapsing on his form.

_What? Is… He survived. Everything's fine._

The relief was almost rest of her thoughts faded, as nausea and light-headedness threatened to engulf her. Skarmory felt her control over her body begin to slip. She was slowly feeling numb from the blood loss.

_I cannot… lose… I need to stop this pinsir now… Without the ariados, this should be easy._

It wasn't.

Skarmory began to slowly pull herself back into the air, desperately trying to reclaim mobility.

Unfortunately, the pinsir, was in no mood to cooperate.

"Let me go, you plebeian!" Skarmory screeched, beating her wings angrily, but the pinsir would not allow its prey out of its grasp. Grunting, the bug twitched its horns, edging them closer, tearing through her innards even more.

It was gut-wrenching, with her making noises that no skarmory should ever have to make. The horns were now deeply impaled into her musculature, and beginning to approach her internal organs. Just a little more, and it would pierce through her lungs or her heart.

_I'll be damned if I let filth like you strike me down._

Pinsir grunted in response, grasping her vicious claws with either hand, using its monstrous strength to hold her in place as his horns protruded deeper.

"Please don't fight back," the pinsir spoke calmly. "In all the time I've served my master, I've never failed him. If I am unable to accomplish what he's asked of me, there'll be… judgment," He grabbed Skarmory's abdomen with his clawed arms.

"So I'm going to have to ask you to perish. No offense of course."

"_You first!" _Skarmory screeched out in defiance, using her claws—to literally tear into the pinsir's body. The bug had a strong exoskeleton, but she wore steel.

The skeleton gave in.

Her thick yet sharp claws dug into the pinsir's skin, into his own abdomen, bringing him closer to herself. The horns clicked within her, causing her to shriek out in pain, but she did not let go. "You… dare… trying to kill my trainer... in front of… me… the…"

The horns pushed a little deeper.

"…The rightful king of Vortigern?"

Pinsir looked up. "Underestimate me a little more. It will be faster."

Skarmory screeched, though this time, it wasn't in anger. It was simply the desire to get past this creature holding it down n_o matter the cost._

A single blade of air hit pinsir in the face.

"What is—?"

A second wave of air hit him. Then another, and another.

Skarmory was beating her wings.

"You're not going anywhere," Pinsir pulled Skarmory's abdomen closer.

"I never implied otherwise." Skarmory's claws dug deeper, her wings began to beat even faster. The pain was threatening to overwhelm her, and she needed to stop it now. Right now. Or else…

The wings beat faster.

_What was the point in the first place?_

And faster…

Skarmory glanced at Red, slowly trying to push himself up, screaming in pain as he pulled out the thin appendage out of his skin. The venom had obviously been in his system for quite some time now. Red was going to die. As was Mawile… and the growlithe…

As was she…

_I wonder what made grandfather say those words to me… back then…_

Heat began to spread across her, traveling all over her wings. Her body began to glow, almost subconsciously gathering steel energy all around her.

Skarmory became even more delirious.

_What was the point of me… surviving back then? Only to die… like this… Why did he… save me back then?_

Faster. Even faster. The steel energy layered and layered over each other, forming interspersed blocks, shining a bright silver. The pinsir tried to push back, the heat already crossing the limits of bearability.

_But then… wasn't my admiration built on the dreams of the same old fool? A king who'd be a valiant slave… a dream that cost him everything…_

The winds were changing, altering, blowing in circles around her. Power washed over her, manipulating the air currents, liberating the enormous heat energy from her system into the environment, into the winds.

Air currents became waves of superheated air.

Whirlwinds rose around, slashing all around, tearing through the trunks, through everything. The superheated currents slashed against Pinsir—stabbing, slashing, tearing, mutilating—

Steel melted.

Raw, molten steel, dropping over the pinsir's face, into his oral cavity, burning through everything.

_And yet… he never gave up. Because that is what a king does. Protect those who serve under him._

"_Save yourself!"_

_And yet…_

_And yet…._

Skarmory opened her eyes. The pinsir was half-burnt, but even so it gazed into Skarmory. Into living, burning steel.

"My life was saved. So, there's no way I'm going down because of _vermin _like you."

Pinsir's hand raised up, slowly trying to scratch Skarmory's face.

Waves rushed in. Waves of fire, of superheated air, of pure wrath, slashed into him.

The hands dropped.

And she took flight.

The horns broke off from the rest of the burned, broken body— still impaled into Skarmory's form. The wings began to slow down, the metal slowly dripping…

Dripping…

Dripping…

Skarmory looked up to face Red. Her entire body was red, almost like she had been painted in flames. Her wings were half-melted, smoke hissing out of them. Her wings gave away, and she dropped down to the floor. Everything was burning. The grass, the trees, the trunks, the vines— everywhere around her was consumed in the flames. And in the middle of that, was Red, slowly trying to push himself up against the trunk, trying to break Mawile out, even in that condition.

Skarmory moved ahead, but her body failed her, and she dropped down, the embedded horns keeping her from smashing her face against the ground.

_Hah! Certainly not a fitting place to die… Certainly…_

Skarmory heard footsteps.

… _Not._

* * *

** _Blood._ **

Something he was intimately familiar with. And there was a lot of it too, for the smell to be this pungent. He slowly moved his flashlight around to find the source.

He almost wished he hadn't.

"Might... Mightyena?" He choked. For the first time in a while, he was at a complete loss for words. He felt uneasy and restless and almost as if he'd suffocate, but all he could do was stand frozen like a mannequin, as his hand slowly slid down towards his waist.

The flashlight dropped, casting a ghastly shadow upon the object in front of him.

His starter lay fallen on the grassy floor, its limbs tucked inwards almost as if to spring forward. Even with the rage consuming him, Travers could make out that Mightyena had been gathering up an attack when the final blow had made it to its head. Or what was left of it.

Half of its head had been gouged out almost as if put through a blender. Whatever it was, It had simply ripped through the right-side of Mightyena's skull— eyes, ears and all, —and torn it away as the blow rescinded.

_Teeth marks. Probably a large jaw. Or… that…. Mawile?_

As a cynical man, Travers preferred to keep his relationships within fixed, specific parameters. His pokémon were no different. They were tools. Tools he had captured and honed to be useful to him. But not Mightyena. That was his starter. His partner. Something that kept him sane through the difficult days after his father died. They had trained for years together. There should have been no way that a mawile of all things could beat it.

Traver's knees felt weak. When Meyers had perished, it had just been business. An unfortunate incident, but that was all. When golem fell, it was an insult to all the effort he had put into crafting a beast. One that would let him join the ranks of the Executives. Something that felt bad, but something that he could get over. He would create greater beasts in time, after all.

But this? This was different. This was _personal._

Travers knelt in front of his fallen starter, his hands touching its dead body. The dark, pristine fur was wet with blood, and yet, he could still feel its body heat. Obviously, the teen wasn't very far from—

His eyes noticed the dark blobs and patches on the floor ahead. Without delay, he picked up the flashlight and—

_Blood._

A dull red trailed into the forest. And beside it—

_Footsteps._

Biting the torchlight with his teeth, he brought out the gun again. Nothing else mattered now. He'd kill the mawile with his own hands. He'd place the nozzle on its jaw, and then blast it open with the bullet, and he'd make the boy watch it all. He'd make him cry and yell and plead for mercy, _begging _for him to let mawile go. He'd strangle the yellowish creature with his very own hands and then watch with vindictive pleasure as its life slowly trickled out of it. He'd make the boy feel what he had just gone through— watch his pokémon die with his own eyes.

He'd allow the boy to scream in vindication, while he proceeded to kill the skarmory as well— if the blasted bird wasn't dead already. He'd let the boy wallow in suffering and agony, and finally when he'd be overcome with it all—

_Only then will he have my permission to die._

Travers stood up, holding the gun in his good hand, while somehow holding the flashlight in the broken one. The anesthetic he had applied was working, but the lack of strength around his wrist was affecting his ability to hold objects. Taking one last look at his fallen starter, he took a deep breath before turning resolutely and following the trail through the forest. Even so, despite his desire for vengeance on someone who had taken yet another thing away from him a small shard of doubt continued to gnaw upon his mind.

_How did he manage to defeat Mightyena?_

Travers cursed before continuing. Perhaps the boy had hidden his strength? Did he have another pokémon on him? He thought back to the corpse that remained of his starter and winced.

_You.. You didn't deserve this, and I—_

Another pungent smell, entirely different from the previous one, caught his attention. This too though was incredibly familiar. Without delay, he rushed towards the direction of the source.

_Smoke? So, the kid was hiding a fire-type? But if he's alive, that means—_

Travers did not finish that thought. He couldn't afford to. The calm demeanor, the sophisticated attitude towards life had deserted him, leaving behind a foggy vision of suspicion. Gone was the composure, replaced with something eerily… unfamiliar.

_Uncertainty._

He started moving faster, even as his mind began to supply him with several nefarious images. The kid had a fire-type. They were in a forest. The skarmory was made of steel, sure— but it could _fly_. Pinsir and Ariados—neither of them had any such advantage. The use of fire against them would be extremely effective. Not to mention if said fire-type had been powerful enough to tear through Mightyena's—

Another image rose up his delirious mind. An image of a dying Meyers, spasming in agony and regurgitating blackened blood out of his mouth, as he tried to say his last words, only for them to be lost and muddled in his screams.

"_That— that thing— he told us it was a growlithe, just a— bitch ate my arm —"_

_Could it be...?_

His fingers tightened around his gun. Come to think of it, the mawile hadn't demonstrated near enough competency to kill Mightyena. Another image rose up in his mind, this one belonging to the kid he was currently obsessed with killing.

"_Your friend was electrocuting Growlithe with that device, torturing him over and over, and his arbok was crushing him to death. All I did was try to escape ..."_

Either way, it would all come to an end. It didn't matter if the kid was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. It didn't matter if the kid or his mawile hadn't been the one to kill the mightyena. They had taken the growlithe with them, and therefore—

Therefore, he would kill them. That was all there was to it.

His thoughts became more and more erratic,something that began to affect his movements as well.

He continued moving towards the smoke. The soft glow of the flames were now visible. The flashlight would only give him away, and so, he switched it off, allowing himself to melt into the familiar embrace of the darkness. His good hand curled around the weapon and caressed the cold steel trigger that stood there, ready to take another life.

_One more bullet._ He laughed self deprecatingly. _And one more arm as well._

Travers edged closer through the foliage. With every single step, the smoke deepened, and the flickering flames in the heart of the forest became more and more vivid. Fear over Meyers's last words added to the growing uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. The fact that somewhere in the middle of this burning forest were his two bugs— both of them vulnerable to flames— only made it worse.

"Ariados!" Travers yelled. All his tactics, all his mannerisms had been shredded to dust. The man who could perform a secret assassination while moving through a lair of League police squads was long gone, leaving behind a husk— a husk with a broken hand and a defeated and possibly dead team.

"Pinsir!" He yelled as he rushed through the burning foliage, disregarding the fallen meshwork of burning litter as it dropped from the sky.

"Aria—" The rest of the words remained unsaid, as he came to a screeching halt, the scene in front of him more than enough to steal his breath away. Roughly twenty feet in front of him, amidst the burning forest, was the skarmory, its entire body half-melted, with liquified steel slowly trickling down its grotesque, mutilated form.

That was when his gaze caught the long protrusion, reminiscent of a horn, that was impaled to the bird's abdomen. The melted steel was now covering a part of it as well, while something reddish—

_Is that blood?_

For the second time, his thoughts came to a screeching halt, as a dangerous, horrible suspicion flitted past his mind. He recognized that horn. It was something he was intimately familiar with. Afterall, it was his pinsir's. Only, it wasn't attached to it anymore.

He strained to look past the growing flames, and a little to the right stood a blackened, deformed corpse. A black, misshapen corpse, with droplets of melted steel littering its form. A black, misshapen object, he realized, that was all that remained of his goddamn pinsir.

_Oh no! No no NO NO NO!_

The pistol fell out of his shaking hands. He would have fallen forwards as well, if not for the sudden wave of sweltering heat brought him back to his situation.

_Deep breaths._

Gripping the weapon tightly, he took a step forward. And that was when he saw it.

_Ariados._

The teen— Red —was down upon the floor, trapped by his own hand and his ariados. One of his arms was impaled and slowly turning purple. Probably an effect of Ariados's venom.

Travers let out a sigh of elation.

_At least Ariados is—_

**SKEWRCH!**

He almost missed it. One moment Ariados was mounting the dead teen, and the next, a tiny fissure appeared on the arachnid's face. The gash deepened and spread past its cheek towards the horn upon its head. Travers watched horrified, as blood spurted from the wound, covering the kid in blood, before Ariados simply collapsed, like a puppet whose strings were cut.

His body physically shook in horror, as he took a step back.

Picked up by Proton himself, he had thought that his path was clear. Grunt Captain, Executive and finally Admin. He would stand at the forefront of the organization as one of their greatest.

No longer.

In that moment, he was no longer a rising star of Team Rocket. He was the scared little boy, crying in his room when he heard about his father's death.

Helpless. Alone. _Weak._

He had lost. Golem— his unbeatable, prized Golem had been defeated. It was alive and would become powerful, but now, it was no longer _undefeatable._

Mightyena was dead.

Pinsir was dead.

And now Ariados… was…

Before the thought could end, a horrible premonition formed within his mind, as the sound of something moving captured his attention. His eyes threatened to burst out with disbelief, as he blankly watched the teen— someone who he had written of as dead — slowly push himself up, shoving the battered body of the ariados to the side.

The appendage that had been impaled into him slowly drew out as the teen somehow pulled himself up, completely defying all of Travers's expectations. This— This _boy —_this damned child, had somehow survived everything that Travers had thrown at him, had somehow taken down each and every one of his team and despite being literally impaled, this logic-defying monster just _would not die_.

_I cannot— this— _Travers's eyes hardened. _I have lost too much today. No more. This ends, now._

The raging inferno of fear and anger had been steadily growing larger and larger. Suffering defeat, losing his team one after the other had been the ingredients falling into a simmering cauldron. Seeing the damned boy get up, seeing him awake just after he had taken Ariados life, had been the final straw.

However, Travers was not like other people. The more he got hurt, he more focussed he got. The greater the defeat he suffered, the stronger the armor he built himself. The angrier he got, the more silent he became.

The resultant mixture did not explode. It imploded.

Raging fires were instantly consumed and his mind reset into an almost peaceful serenity. Travers stopped shaking, and slowly bent downwards, picking the heavy pistol that had fallen from his fingers.

_I've wasted too much time. I will end the mission now. Eliminate all resistances, and capture the growlithe. That is the correct course of action._

Travers was somewhat surprised at the mechanical patterns his thoughts were taking. Without a pokémon to aid him, and one wrist broken, the smart thing to do would be to retreat and regroup. Communicate with the other grunts rummaging through the forest and form a new team. The fire would make it easier for the others to spot his location. The problem was— the very same flames must have alerted the Ranger Squad by now as well.

The growlithe was nowhere to be seen, and the forest was on fire. The boy was alive, but he was injured and would probably collapse soon— If not from his injuries and blood loss, then it from the neurotoxins in his blood. The skarmory was literally melting, and the mawile was nowhere to be seen, much like the growlithe. In all probability, all of them would perish in the flames. There was simply no reason to attack the boy.

None at all.

_But I want to— I need to kill him with my own hands._

Every single cell, every single experience he had gathered as a freelancer, as a hunter, as a recon agent—told him that this was an unnecessary risk. He needed to get in touch with other grunts, build himself a team and come back and finish the job. After this mission was complete, he would start over. He had done it before. He could do it again. And yet, he simply could not shake off the idea that, that—

_If I run away now, I'll be leaving my team unavenged. I'll have failed my mission. I'll be admitting that I was... inferior. _He thought back to his father. J_ust like he was._

He had thought himself strong, building a life for himself within Team Rocket, after the loss of his father. And now he had lost everything once again.

Slowly, he cocked his gun and stepped forward. Taking careful aim he—

**SKARRRR!**

Travers cursed, riled up at the sudden screech that had cost him his concentration. More importantly, the skarmory— _and how the hell is it still alive —_had stumbled its way forward. It had used the last remaining vestiges of its strength and dived in front of its trainer. Its wings spread outward, cradling the boy protectively. Obviously, it intended to shield him with its body.

_Useless_

His mouth twisted into a cruel smile. The boy—his victim, seemed somewhat surprised at the bird's reaction before he caught Traver's eye.

Travers raised the pistol, aiming right at the skarmory's heart. The bullets could pierce through a half-foot thick steel wall with ease. The bird's thin armor would do nothing to stop it.

_Two birds with one stone._

"Skarmory, NO!" The kid's eyes widened. He had been noticed. Not that it mattered. It was too late.

_Game over._

His fingers closed in against the cold metal of the trigger—

**ZZZZZZZZZZZZ!**

Bile rose into his throat as he stumbled forward feeling an immense sense of vertigo. His vision flickered as his hand fell to his side uselessly even as his finger pulled at the trigger.

With an explosive noise, that caused everyone in the vicinity to wince, the bullet burrowed straight into the ground. And his remaining arm _shattered._

Travers howled.

Years of training kicked in instantly as he did his best to suppress the pain and turned to face his attacker—

_Didn't…. Golem crush—?_

The scythe pierced into his chest before slashing upwards.

The pair of large yellow eyes was the last thing he ever saw.

* * *

If there was a level of exhaustion that could be equated with insanity, this would be it. When the ariados had mounted Red, he had that that that was the end. That he was going to die. The arachnid's leg had ripped straight into his arm, pumping some sort of deadly venom into him.

So it was kind of a surprise, that even after the entire episode of driving the knife into the ariados's head, he was still… well, somehow managing to get up.

_A… numbing agent? Perhaps the venom is paralytic in nature?_

He was exhausted. This whole mess was wearing on his soul. At this point, he would give nearly anything to be able to simply collapse and ignore everything else.

_I need to sleep. A lot of sleep. To just get in bed and cuddle up for a week. Maybe going back to Pallet isn't such a bad idea…_

He turned to glance at Skarmory— and felt his breath leave him.

The avian was standing, but only barely so. In fact, she was barely recognizable. Her shining armor, once bright and silver was now thawed and smelting down her form, mixing with a dirty reddish stain— _blood._

A darkish, metallic horn was impaled into her abdomen, with the melted slag slowly dripping over its exterior. Somehow, she was using the horn as a crutch to keep herself upright. It was like watching a twisted, grotesque caricature of the magnificence that was once Skarmory.

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the avian screeched.

Loudly.

At first, Red had thought it was a screech of pain and had immediately moved towards her, but the next moment, he actually saw Skarmory come at him. For one moment, a wild idea of her going rogue and _actually _attacking him came to mind, but he quickly discarded it. His mind was shutting down, his eyes watery and losing clarity, but he wasn't delirious.

Not yet.

"Skarmory, what's—" He tried again, but by then, the large avian was already upon him, her wings raised, almost as if she was trying to cradle him.

_What is she doing?_

Frankly, the sight of a giant metal pokémon looming above you, glowing a dull red with droplets of liquid metal streaming down it, was terrifying. But Red only saw two things in her gaze. Warmth and the desire to protect.

Red strained his neck, trying to look past her.

_Why is she so agitated?_

That was when his eyes met with Travers's dark ones, the man barely visible with the strange way that the darkness was enveloping him. More importantly, however, was the large pistol sitting in his hands.

"No…" He breathed, as he realized what Skarmory was up to. Even being half-melted, and barely conscious, her instincts were top-notch, and she was using them to protect _him. _He didn't know why the avian was that caring of _him_, but he was sure that he hadn't done anything to deserve it.

"Skarmory move aside, that man has a—" he began, trying to push Skarmory away. Had been a little more… alert and in control of his senses, he'd have considered that there was no way a mere _bullet _could pierce through Skarmory's armor. Then again, with her steel layer literally melting, chances were that it might be able to go through.

"_No..." _He breathed again.

He began to push Skarmory away, trying to get her out of the bullet's path. The melted slag splattered over the top of his palm and his sleeves, burning and blistering his skin. The pain was blinding, but the fear of losing Skarmory, and his own life, was a far greater stimulant.

And that was what forced him awake.

"No wait, don't shoot," he began, his voice pathetically low even to his own ears. Before he could try again, his hands instinctively covered his ears as a dangerously familiar buzzing sound pierced into his eardrums. He shut his eyes in discomfort, trying to block out the noise but to no avail.

And then he heard it.

It was like someone had caused an explosion in his ear. It was so loud that he nearly collapsed right there, his ears filled with a horrible ringing. It was the sound of a gunshot.

_There's… no pain? Then.. it hit..._

"Skarmory NO!" He screamed.

His eyes quickly scanned the entirety of Skarmory's form, straining to find a puncture wound. Finding none, his gaze extended forward. Travers had turned around and— and—

_...a sword?_

The man choked and coughed up blood even as his fingers fumbled towards the blade impaling him. Slowly, deliberately, _cruelly_ the blade began to drag vertically along Travers's spine, all the way to his neck, before tearing its way out, bisecting him.

Blood spurted out in a translucent fountain, as the blade skewered its way out through his left shoulder. The shredded body of the once fearsome man dropped down like a rag, leaving its attacker standing over him.

"..."

Red tried to speak, but the words did not come out. Standing in front of him, post-Traver's body was Scyther. The bug's lower body seemed nearly flattened, almost as if it had been crushed.

_How… How is it even standing?_

He passed a second glance at Travers's body and felt his stomach churn as yet another wave of nausea hit him. The scyther was staring at the mutilated body with a strange expression. Vindication, yes but also a feeling of relief. Of accomplishment. Of... liberation.

Scyther met his eyes, before slowly losing control, almost as if the entirety of its strength had been consumed in that single blow. It fell backward, its wings no longer able to support its crushed body.

"Scy—" Red tried, before a wave of heat swept over his face, alerting him to his surroundings. His _burning_ surroundings. Despite multiple injuries, all he felt was a dull throb. That and the increasing desire to simply go to sleep.

_Strange…_

Was this dying? Being lulled back to sleep after listening to a fairy-tale before bed? It was ironic. Back in Pallet, he had screamed his lungs out in agony but had survived the encounter. But now, in the midst of a burning forest, with nothing to help him and his team, he'd die, poisoned from the bite. And yet, all he felt was the overbearing feeling of tiredness after a hard day's work.

_A nice, long sleep, really feels nice._

Something _screeched _in the background, making him cringe at the high-pitch. It was almost like layers of broken metal forcefully grating over each other.

Hundreds and thousands of broken shards of metal, all at once.

"Skarmory?"

A horrible, crooning wail was his answer. A sound that no pokémon should ever make. And it was coming from right in front of him.

From her.

Whenever Red thought of Skarmory he thought of strength. He thought of determination. He thought of _safety._ Half-melted gauged with a horn, and barely mobile, Skarmory was a sick parody of what she represented. Of what she _should_ be.

_My pokémon need me. I can't give up here. They need me. They... Mawile!_

Red whirled around, spotting Mawile some distance away, still bound to the tree. The ariados had taken care to bind her jaw, to prevent her from biting herself free. Thankfully, she was still okay, though the threads over her mouth prevented her from making any sounds. Red glanced at the burning trees towards his right.

_I need to get them away. I—_

Red lurched a fourth time. This time he almost fell over as the blackness clouded his vision once more.

—_Not much time. I need to hurry._

"Rest now," He said softly, his hand gently stroking Skarmory's head. His hand drew away reflexively. While her armor was no longer melting, it was still hot enough to burn.

Slowly he raised his pokéball and returned her. Then, he turned around and slowly limped to the tree that Mawile was tied to. His poisoned hand felt as heavy as lead, despite the lack of pain. With the other, the one that had started melting from the corrosive liquid dripping from the spider's maw— the one that _should_ have hurt like a bitch —moved ahead and extracted Mawile's pokéball from his waist.

" You're going to be okay."

Mawile grunted, clearly irritated at having been essentially glued to the tree.

"Heeh!" Red chuckled deliriously, "don't worry. I'll just… let—"

He lost control again, and wobbled forward, bashing his forehead against the tree trunk.

"That hurt like—where's the—"

With considerable effort, he managed to pluck out Mawile's pokéball, using his fingers to trace the M etched over the surface. A childish endeavor no doubt, but it did have its perks.

"Re— return!"

With a flash, Mawile was sucked right into the capture device, the bindings meaningless in front of pokéball technology. Breathing heavily, he turned towards the rest of his team. The fires were moving even closer, and there was a lot to do. He wasn't sure if he'd be surviving the day, but at least— at least if he could get his team to Misty, she'd be able to do something.

_Scyther's next._

For once, the bug didn't fight it back. That, or it was way past the point of caring. Or it was unconscious.

_That makes three— four with shellder. Now I just—_

He lurched again, literally falling down face-first.

_Damn._

He slowly moved his hand up to his face watching with fascination as his hand colored a dull red.

_Broke my nose. I think. Need help. Need to get to… Growlithe!_

The growlithe. He had forgotten all about it. The poor thing was probably still lying under—under—

Red slapped his face. It wasn't as effective as he thought it would be, but the jolt brought him back. He idly noticed some drool dangling from the edge of his lips, before it dropped down to the ground.

What was he thinking about again?

He blinked hard, observing his sweat and tears stain red as they dripped down his face. Probably mixing with the blood all over it.

_Focus. _He told himself_. The growlithe._

It was probably still under the tree he left it under when he went after Ariados.

Pinching himself hard, to keep himself awake, he slowly trudged towards the tree growlithe was under. It should be a few minutes away, or some—

A blast of searing heat scraped across his face.

—Not this way. Clearly.

He lurched towards the other side, away from the burning flames. Blood, he was looking for blood. The spider's blood. That was where the growlithe should be.

He took a step forward.

_I can do it._

And another.

And then a third.

Soon enough, he was right there, somehow standing right in front of the growlithe. Said creature was still unconscious, coiled into itself, twitching and moaning piteously.

_There you are—_

A pokéball wouldn't work. He'd need to lift it up by himself. And so he tried.

And failed dismally.

The left arm, the one poisoned by the ariados, simply refused to move. Neither the arm nor the fingers. Come to think of it, it hardly even felt like an arm anymore.

_No matter._

He made a second attempt. The arm merrily disobeyed his orders, perfectly imitating an inanimate object.

_Move, for god's sake._

It didn't respond. At all.

…

…

That left him with only a single option. Without further delay, he moved his left shoulder forward and slapped his arm against the growlithe's face.

The creature moaned.

"Come on, wake up."

He smacked it again. This time, it did shake up a bit, peering out at its surroundings with half-slanted eyes.

"Don't bother coiling up," Red barked crudely. " I can't help you more than this."

The growlithe blinked, and looked around, trying to assess its current situation. Whining, it pushed itself up, only to sag down again, obviously feeling the pain in its fractured bones. Red would have felt sorry for it, but in his current condition, he had bigger fish to fry.

"Can you get up?" He prodded. "Can you?"

The fire-type groaned piteously.

" Listen up. I need you to get up and start moving. See the forest is burr— burning. My team's wounded and I need to get them safe." He chortled mirthlessly. "None of this makes sense."

Red paused.

"But I told you that I'd protect you. Now you're a fire-thing— type and can stay hidden out here. Maybe someone will come for you. Maybe you'll survive on ,your own. Maybe. But if you want to escape with me— with us —you need to get up."

That seemed to hold the growlithe's attention.

"Atta' boy. Now get up! We need— MOVE!"

One of the branches from the tree beside had snapped, falling downwards, right upon the unfortunate creature coiled beneath it. Mustering a surprising amount of strength Red pushed the growlithe forward in a brazen attempt to save its life.

The growlithe was sent tumbling and crashed against the tree trunk. Red on the other hand, now devoid of power, fell limp, and slowly dropped down on his back, his hands falling on either side.

* * *

Blood.

Smoke.

Fire.

Pain.

…

Red's eyes jerked awake. Just how long had he been down? Minutes, Hours? It couldn't be longer than that… could it?

He tried to twist his neck. It hurt like a bitch, but he was grateful for it. It was keeping him awake, and at this point, probably alive as well. The fact that he could even hold a conscious thought surprised him. He tried moving his legs.

Unresponsive.

His left hand might as well be non-existent. Anything south of his left shoulder felt like stone. Like he was currently being squashed underneath a mountain. His right arm though…

_Come on… just a little more… Just a little…_

His fingers scratched his belt.

..._more…_

Nothing.

"Help," He said, his voice sounding pitifully soft, even to himself.

"He— Help!" He tried again.

Nothing happened. Except for the ever-encroaching flames that were slowly inching forward.

"Help, someone… _anyone!"_

Maybe someone would notice the flames in the forest. Maybe someone was already there, looking for the source, looking for survivors… Perhaps they'd find him, rescue him… Perhaps Misty…

Yes! Misty was there, not very far from him. Travers was dead, so _obviously _Misty was there somewhere near, and she'd come for him. She had water-types, they'd extinguish the fires, he'd be saved… his team would be saved. He'd be…

_Saved?_

The fallen pistol lying a little away from his position attracted his gaze. It lay there, mocking him. The gun, the weapon that had been in Travers's hands… Travers with whom he had left Misty to get Skarmory…

"_...you go get Skarmory. I'll take care of the golem…"_

Sounds of the bullet rang in his head, and Misty's accusing face appeared in his mind. He didn't want to acknowledge it, but a part of him did come to the realization.

She was probably dead. She was probably dead and he was alone. Alone, useless and unable to save himself or his team. There would be no help coming.

His eyes brimmed with tears as the utter desperation and helplessness slowly began to sink in.

All those years at the ranch anxiously waiting to turn fourteen, to get his first chance at the Trainer Exams…

The mad grin threatening to tear his lips upon hearing his results…

Passing the exams on his first try with record scores…

The same grin began to etch upon his lips now. A grin that slowly shattered into whimpers. Whimpers of pain, of helplessness… whimpers hoping for one last miracle.

Whimpers of a teen that did not want to die there, all alone.

His fingers etched closer to his belt. He could feel the M etched on the pokéball.

_There are no miracles._

Despite the strain, his fingers pulled.

_There is no hope._

The pokéball popped out of his belt socket.

_Only I remain._

The capture device opened with an audible click. The world faded into darkness once more, before light returned for a second time.

"Wile?" Mawile's surprised squeak echoed through the air.

Moving his head hurt, but he did it anyway. Just a little bit more, and there'd be no more pain. He just had to last a bit longer.

Red felt the deceiver push her way past the tinder and smoke, and get right in front of his face, an expression of concern on his face. For a moment he considered making her hold the pokéballs, but her tiny hands could only hold one. Trying to hold them via her jaw would be a nightmare, especially if she accidentally swallowed them and they broke within her.

"Heh, good job Mawile," he coughed, "Can you release the others, please? I'm a little—" he chuckled mirthlessly " I'm a little indisposed"

Mawile took a long look at him before moving forward. She tugged on his belt gently, allowing his pokéballs to spill on the ground before she released them. For a moment the horrible orange radiance of the surrounding flames was overshadowed by the vivid translucent red that emanated from the pokéballs. A moment later, and Red was surrounded. Surrounded by his team that he had sworn to protect. Surrounded by his team that he had failed.

Red looked at his team sadly. His eyes passed over Skarmory's unmoving form, crossed over the half-flattened scyther, past Shellder who was being as inconspicuous as ever. The last bit made him crack up in wry amusement. His gaze continued over the unconscious growlithe before finally moving back towards Mawile.

"Now go." He croaked, pushing her softly.

Mawile looked at him. Then she gestured at the rest of his team and looked back at him in incomprehension. Her confusion was clear. Where was he expecting her to go? Get Misty?

"I give up," He laughed bitterly." I can't save them. I can't save anything."

Red's eyes went over his team yet again, before moving back to Mawile. " Still, they don't deserve to be alone now. At least…" he coughed, his vision fading. "At least, you can run away with Shellder. That growlithe…." He coughed again, "that growlithe heals fast. Pull him out too if you can. Skarmory… she can't move, and neither can Scyther."

Silence.

"I can't do anything for them now, but at least…. At least I can die with them. Keep them company in their final moments."

"..."

"..."

The flames continued to burn around him.

"Ma? Mawawa!" Mawile yelled at him, possibly in chastisement. She pulled at his jeans, at his shirt, tearing through the fabric. Red knew it was useless, but couldn't bring himself to stop her. He allowed himself to be manhandled as she gripped him above his jeans with her jaw, trying to pull him— get him moving.

"It won't work." He smiled. "I was poisoned. My body's… shut down. You, however, can still move"

He gently nudged her with his right hand. "You can still make it. See the world. Wasn't that what you wanted to do in the first place?"

Mawile ignored him and continued shouting. She yelled and yelled with tears streaming down her face all the while. She let his jeans go, and instead grabbed into him, her jaws sinking into Red's shoulder. She tried to pull him, but he was too heavy. Too heavy for something as tiny as herself. She pushed and kicked and screamed out her frustrations, but nothing helped.

His face softened. By now even she knew that it was a useless action. But just because it was useless did not make it meaningless.

"Let it go. Just leave." Red pleaded.

As expected, Mawile continued to ignore him. A moment later, she collapsed, tears streaming down her eyes. The rest of his team was strangely silent. Skarmory—somehow still conscious —looked at him with clear eyes. Even knowing that she was going to perish, there was neither fear nor blame in her gaze.

Just grim determination.

Red allowed himself a smile, somehow pushing his arm sidewards— enough to touch against Mawile's fur. Slowly, painfully, he lifted her trembling body and placed her on his lap. He did not have the energy to push her away again. Mawile was clearly terrified of dying. But she did not leave. Rather, she simply cuddled into him gently rubbing her head into his palm.

Red felt something heavy descend upon him.

It was Skarmory's wing.

A squeak followed, and Shellder was right up there as well, biting into his hair. It probably didn't understand the severity of the situation, but it could sense something was wrong and it was trying to do whatever it could.

_That, or it's just hungry,_ Red chortled mirthlessly.

He glanced at the scyther, fallen slightly afar. He tried to get to it, ask for its forgiveness. He tried to raise its head.

Nothing happened.

How pitiful. All of this had started with a simple ideal. He had promised Growlithe that he'd save him. Save him from Team Rocket. And now, here he was, lying in the middle of a burning forest, with his team dying alongside him. Misty was probably dead too, with her pokémon. And Growlithe…the poor thing would probably perish as well.

_In the end, I could save no one. Not even myself._

At the very least, he would offer them some comfort at the last moment. Not one of them deserved to die alone.

_I'll stay with you guys. One way or another._

He glanced at his surrounding team before he spoke again.

"I wanted to be the champion you know… the most powerful out there." He chuckled softly. "Heh, I'm not sure if that's possible anymore. I— even though I never ended up the strongest, I'm surely the luckiest. You're the best— the best anyone could ever ask for."

He coughed again.

"Even you Scyther…. And Growlithe, for the little time you've been with me…"

Red paused again, blinking back the tears that were forming in his eyes.

"Thank you for choosing me as your trainer."

He felt Skarmory's familiar wing push forward a little more almost as if to wrap him in a protective embrace. Mawile leaned into him gently, providing what comfort she could. Even Shellder licked his face slowly, as of the seriousness of the situation was finally dawning upon him. Or so he'd like to think. The growlithe was still unmoving, as was the scyther.

His body didn't move, but if there was one single action he could have done, it would have been to pull his team closer, to hold them tighter. For a moment he almost felt like he _actually _did that.

His half-lidded eyes gazed at the surrounding flames drawing ever nearer. His gaze fixated on a vision that did not exist. Of himself and his team around him, continuing their journey. Of what he considered _happiness_.

His face melted into a mask of clear serenity even as he tried to engrave those final moments in his memory.

Peacefully, his eyes began to close. His vision blotted out and his hearing soon began to follow. After that went his sense of smell and the feeling of his hold on his team was all that remained.

A moment later and even that vanished.

**~~ACT 1 - END~~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	15. Act 1 - TRAINER CARD

**   
_GENERAL INFORMATION_ **

  
  
  
**NAME** \- RED KETCHUM  
  
**TRAINER ID** \- AVSPN810H  
  
**SEX - **MALE  
  
**SPONSOR** \- SAMUEL J. OAK  
  
**DATE OF BIRTH** \- Jan 29, 582 CE  
  
**AGE** \- 14  
  
**ADDRESS** \- 15/A PALLET TOWN  
  
**GUARDIAN** \- DELIA KETCHUM  
  
  
  


** _TRAINER INFORMATION_ **

  
  
  
**EDUCATION** \- PALLET ACADEMY  
  
**RANK** \- ROOKIE  
  
**TIER** \- High  
  
**BADGES** \- 0  
  
  
  


_ **TRAINER RECORDS** _

  
  
  
~Pokédex linked with Trainer ID. AVSPN810H has been indexed.  
  
~Registered complaint against Ritchie Kent [VXQBS923J] on charges of rookie-baiting, attempted murder through. Complaint registered by Sponsor Samuel J. Oak. Accused deemed fugitive, police action pending.  
  
~Registered at Trainer Square, Viridian City. Arena 1.  
  
~Trainer Rank adjusted - Mid Rookie.  
  
~Trainer Rank adjusted - High Rookie.  
  
  
  


** _CAPTURE LOG_ **

  
  
  
~Captured wild shellder. Indexed under AVSPN810H.  
  
~Received Skarmory from Viridian City's Trainer Square. Transferred from the Vortigern Ranges at Fuchsia Reserve. Indexed under AVSPN810H.  
  
~Captured wild pineco. Indexed under AVSPN810H.  
  
~Captured wild ledyba. Indexed under AVSPN810H.  
  
~Captured wild scyther. Indexed under AVSPN810H.  
  
  
  


_ **MOVE TUTOR/TM ACQUISITIONS** _

  
  
  
~Thunder Wave purchased from Viridian Pokémart.  
  
~Double Team purchased from Viridian Pokémart.  
  
~Double Team purchased from Viridian Pokémart.  
  
~Mist redeemed through Trainer Square voucher at Viridian Pokémart.  
  
~Double Team purchased from Viridian Pokémart  
  
  
  


_ **TEAM MEMBERS** _

  
  
  
**Mawile [Steel/Fairy]**  
  
_Variant:_ Ice Ancestry  
  
_Sex:_ Female  
  
_Ability:_ Snow Cloak, Hyper Cutter  
  
_Registered Moveset: _Iron Head, Flash, Fairy Wind, Icy Wind, Mist, Astonish, Thunder Wave, Double Team  
  
**Shellder [Water]**  
  
_Sex: _Male  
  
_Ability:_ Shell Armour, Skill Link, Overcoat  
  
_Registered Moveset: _Clamp, Withdraw, Screech, Double Team  
  
**Skarmory [Steel/Flying]**  
  
_Sex:_ Female  
  
_Ability:_ Keen Eye, Sturdy  
  
_Registered Moveset: _Steel Wing, Iron Head, Flash, Wing Attack, Peck  
  
**Scyther [Bug/Flying]**  
  
_Sex: _Male  
  
_Ability:_ Technician, Hyper Cutter  
  
_Registered Moveset: _Fury Cutter, Bug Buzz, Night Slash, Steel Wing, Metal Claw, Agility

* * *

**This is Red's Trainer and Pokémon information as of the end of ACT 1. It is intended to serve as a reminder for Red's current team, their movepools and in general, the accomplishments Red has had in his journey so far.**


	16. Interlude 1 - Ritchie

_Please… please just… survive._

  
As someone who had grown up with his grandfather, Ritchie didn't exactly associate positive emotions with hospitals. Every time he had entered one, he was met with loss. Half-forgotten memories of sitting on his grandfather's lap, waiting for his mother and father to return to him still littered his mind. Come to think of it, the two-year-old Ritchie didn't quite understand the reality and harshness that was death. The only feeling that was firmly etched in his memory was a feeling of intense discomfort and anxiety. Perhaps even his child-self had known that something _wrong _and life-changing had happened here. Perhaps he was just uncomfortable with the unusually white walls and the pungent, sterile smell. Perhaps he was simply hungry and wanted a biscuit.  
  
Ten years later, he had relived that faded experience once more, and this time, he had lost his grandfather. From what he understood, the old man had passed away in his sleep. Ritchie had only found out that something was wrong when his grandfather hadn't woken up post the afternoon.  
  
Even the memory of that day sent shivers down his spine. He had come back from school and found his grandfather still asleep. He had called out to him— several times —and yet, the man never moved. Ritchie had managed to take his sleeping grandfather to the hospital, and only then did he come to know that the man was dead.  
  
The twelve-year-old had developed a phobia about sleeping, fearing he'd close his eyes and never wake up— just like his grandfather.  
  
Oh, he still had relatives, though he wasn't particularly close to any of them. Not that he minded. Ritchie had become a ward under the care of a distant relative, and to be honest, neither he nor his new caretaker really cared for each other. It was more of a… mutually recognized existence, at best.  
  
And Ritchie had been okay with it. All he needed was to pass the Trainer Certification Exams, become a trainer, and his life would be in his own hands. It didn't disappoint. He had gotten a little pichu from the local breeder in Frodomar City. Not his first preference, since pichu were notorious for their unruly disposition. But ranch-grown starters were only available to those that could afford them— meaning those trainers that hired the services of said ranch for their future pokémon team. Ritchie wasn't poor by any standards, but acquiring a ranch service would hit his finances hard.  
  
Hence, the pichu. After all, beggars couldn't be choosers after all.  
  
Still, the pichu, despite being an avatar of mischief, had bonded with him over the next few weeks. He had traversed through Frodomar and Chrysanthemum Island, challenging every rookie he could spot, hoping to secure enough cash for his next meal. It was difficult, especially when he went hungry for a few days after a particularly bad losing streak. Still, once he became an elite-trainer all these problems would vanish. After all, there was no such thing as a poor elite-trainer.  
  
After that, things started to look his way. He had hit a little fortune in a contest and won a taillow—a flying-type from the Hoenn region. He had then traveled to Celadon to face Erica. For all her hype, it had been a measly little bellsprout that Sparky, defeated in the first ten seconds. That was how he had attained his first badge.  
  
Seriously, getting badges were over-hyped.  
  
Zippo had been next— a conquest from a battle with a rather arrogant jackass called Damien when he had visited Cerulean City. That was also the same place where he had gotten his second badge, after defeating Lily Waterflower. Seriously, the gym leader was such a slob—the man couldn't be bothered to face him, and had sent his daughter to fight him instead. Sparky— who had recently evolved into a pikachu, had been instrumental in his victory.  
  
He had even managed to acquire Squishy—his tentacool, as a _reward _for a good performance.  
  
Not bad overall.  
  
A ferry to Fuchsia had followed, and he had challenged the gym there. Koga was absent—as expected, what with the recent news about him becoming the new Johto Elite Four and all —and Ritchie had battled the man's daughter Janine instead.  
  
The twenty-something girl was downright narcissistic. The battle had been difficult but he had managed to win it. Capturing Princess had been an extra perk. With three badges under the belt, he had wanted to try a hand at some of the really strong gyms, hoping they'd be better opponents.  
  
And so he made his way to Vermillion.  
  
And just like that, he was destroyed. There was no mercy or openings to take advantage of. Only the endless mockery of the cruel Gym-leader as his team was dismantled. Furthermore, there were no second chances either. If you lost once, then you could only challenge him after you got another badge. Something about not having to deal with an endless stream of garbage challenging him without end.  
  
Ritchie would have been offended if he hadn't been so shocked. Sure, he had lost before, but never like this. He would have been able to accept it if he had been defeated by one of Surge's more powerful pokémon. The war-veteran had made it a point to use an unevolved pokémon— recently caught if he was to be believed.  
  
Ashamed and unwilling to accept his loss, he had left— though not before promising that he would return much stronger and crush Surge and his stupid tricks.  
  
That was why Ritchie ended up ferrying his way to the west coast of Pallet, wanting to leave for Sevii Islands for some training experience. Sevii were rather infamous for their pokémon contests, so the chance of earning some quick bucks was on the table. Also, the natives of Sevii weren't great battlers, or so he had heard. Then again, what could you expect from villagers?  
  
He ended up meeting a trainer while he was going through the Pallet Forest. Well, met was a bit soft. The rookie's strange pokémon had tried to eat his _Zippo. _Obviously, this was a rich brat, one who bought exotic pokémon but couldn't keep them under control. Planning to teach him a lesson— and earn some money on the side —Ritchie had challenged him to a battle.  
  
Everything had gone downhill from that.  
  
The strange yellow thing— Mawile —had destroyed his Zippo.  
  
_Just like Surge._  
  
He could almost see it in his eyes. The taunting. The mockery. The fact that his team was worthless. He could hear Surges's words ringing in his ears.  
  
"_Do you think that throwing around powerful moves randomly makes you strong? I see dozens of your type every day. And you know what happens to them? They get thrown out with the rest of the trash…"_  
  
Ritchie's mouth tightened. He would not lose again. He had lost to Surge but he was a Gym Leader. If he lost to the rookie, that would be proving the man right. That he was… That he was...  
  
"_This voltorb? I caught it a week ago. Its reserves aren't half of your pikachu's. Power can be bought by anyone with enough money. There's something more you need to become an elite trainer. And kid… you don't have it."_  
  
Ritchie had reacted with extreme prejudice. And it had not ended in his favor.  
  
He suffered from acute anxiety, as his newly-minted team of pokémon fought and struggled for their lives. And this time, he had brought it upon them. When Doctor Pym had mentioned Sparky and Zippo's precarious situation, he had been shocked into dismay. All reason deserted him, leaving behind anxiety, frustration and blind emotional responses in the wake.  
  
That was how he had ended up in Team Rocket.  
  
And now once again, he was seeing one of his own team members struggling to live, after suffering what the doctors described as an acute stage of hypothermia. And all of that, because he had left him on his own to survive, to save his own life— his and everyone else's—at the cost of Zippo's own.  
  
_"If you lose here, everyone will die. I can't give up. Just... survive, and everything will be fine."_  
  
Those had been the last words he had addressed his familiar companion with, asking him— _begging him —_to somehow bear the pain, to somehow keep breathing, keep surviving, keep pushing past the limits of his own mortality, to just… stay alive for those damned remaining few seconds.  
  
And then everything would be alright again.  
  
"_It's comatose. Might even end up dead. I presume he can be given one of those spare graveler then?"—_those were Ariana's parting words. In just two sentences, she had taken his feelings, his loyalty, his pride, and affection for his teammates and thrown them away like yesterday's trash. They were useless if they couldn't win. Useless if they couldn't survive. Useless if their trainer was an incompetent fool that could only watch like a coward as they fought for every breath.  
  
That was how Ritchie was back, sitting on a bench, along the white-walls of the medical unit of the Pallet training base. And Zippo— Zippo was lying unconscious, the occasional breath being his only sign of life. That and his tail flame that was flickering dangerously over the past three days. It was a wonder that the poor thing hadn't lost all sense of hope and given up.  
  
_God knows I would have if I had a trainer as incompetent as myself._  
  
"…eight?"  
  
_I brought them here to survive._  
  
"…ou listening?"  
  
_It's Zippo today. Perhaps Sparky will be next? Then Happy and the rest? I'm—_  
  
"… are you awake, goddammit?"  
  
_After all, it's hardly worth…_  
  
A strong arm pushed down on his left shoulder, almost making him lose his balance and slip off the bench. The sudden jolt shook him from his stupor though he somehow managed to hold to his balance before he turned around.  
  
"What's the big idea?"  
  
It was Grunt 17. Grunts didn't have names. Your names ceased to be of importance when you became a grunt. From then on, you were only _Recruit, _and a number signifying your identity. Ritchie was 38, and the one in front of him was the Unovan he had faced the first day, the one with the nasty krokorok.  
  
"Coach has ordered you to report to him ASAP."  
  
"Is this about my new mission? I cannot start without a team of six."  
  
17 shrugged. "Do I look like I'm here to answer your questions?. Coach asked for you, so I did. He's in the staff quarters... with the grunt captains, I think. Maybe it is for your placement. It's about time anyway."  
  
Ritchie didn't bother with the other teen's words. He was anxious since Zippo had yet to wake up, and between his hypothermia and his flickering tail flames—  
  
"Well, my job is done, 38. Best not keep the Coach waiting."  
  
"I'll… be going there now." Ritchie answered in resignation.  
  
17 shrugged again, leaving him to his own musings.  
  


* * *

  
**Staff-Quarters, Pewter City Base.**  
  
Ritchie stood in front of the door, taking a deep breath. Ever since he had entered the building, this man, whom he had addressed as Coach, had been the source of his life's troubles. He knew for a fact that most trainees were easily recruited after demonstrating a minimum level of competency, something that he himself had easily demonstrated. For some reason, it hadn't been enough for the man. Instead, the Coach had put him through the grinder, intentionally making him fight against more and more experienced opponents. Ritchie would have asked him why he had such a grudge against him, but considering the way life had turned out for him, he might as well take it in stride.  
  
_Somedays I wonder why I still haven't given up._  
  
He took another deep breath and knocked on the door.  
  
"Come in!"  
  
Ritchie opened the door, and stepped in, finding the man responsible for his present troubles looking up from what seemed like a Grunt-profile file.  
  
_Is this the moment when you tell me that I need to struggle for another month to become a grunt?_  
  
"You want to say something, recruit?"  
  
_Yes, that you are evil._  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"Good, I'm not fond of idle chit-chat either," the Coach answered with a half-frown on his face. "How's your… charmeleon?"  
  
_Still breathing, no thanks to you._  
  
"Still in the ICU. I'm told he's still unconscious. Acute case of Hypothermia, as you know."  
  
"Yeah well Ariana tends to go a little overboard at times, but this isn't about her, or your pokémon. This is about your future in Team Rocket. You are one of Mickey's recruits, correct?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"And you have taken a loan in return for a year's service to Team Rocket, regardless of the impact said service might have upon your own life and future?"  
  
"It was that or watching my team die," Ritchie said defensively.  
  
"Like the match three days ago?"  
  
"..." Ritchie glared at the man furiously.  
  
"Something on your mind, recruit?"  
  
"...No, sir."  
  
"Heh! I'm surprised. I thought you had spunk. Too afraid to speak your mind?"  
  
"...No sir, I'm perfectly happy just thinking about it."  
  
"Heh!" The Coach laughed. "At least you know when to keep your mouth shut."  
  
"Good," the man coughed, before gazing down at the file on his desk. "Recruit 38. Previous identity— Ritchie Kent from Frodomar City. Age— fifteen. Blood Group— B-negative. Huh, you're surprisingly resilient. Don't match your blood-type very much do you?"  
  
Ritchie bristled at that comment.  
  
"Past trainer history— Rookie. Number of badges— three. Been a trainer for three months. Wanted in police custody for a B-grade felony—an attack on a fellow trainer using pokémon," the man sneered before returning to the report, "Number of pokémon six—a raichu (forced evolution), a charmeleon, a tentacool, a nidorino, a metapod— bah, who keeps a metapod? Let's see—and a taillow. That's a rare one. Caught during migration?"  
  
Ritchie shook his head. "Contest."  
  
The man's eyes returned to the file. "You took a loan of fifty grand in exchange for a year's worth of service. Normally I'm a bit skeptical about lending money, but Mickey's a rather trustworthy fellow if a bit brash around the corners. Obviously, it's natural that I… test my investment to see if it is worth my effort."  
  
Ritchie's eyes widened. "You—"  
  
The Coach looked up, meeting Ritchie's eyes.  
  
"My name's Edvard Butch Surge. I'm sure you heard that name before."  
  
Ritchie nodded his head dumbly, trying to process the information. Was this really the man that had—  
  
"I'd thank you to never use it. You can call me Butch, like everyone else. Executive Butch. I answer to Admin Proton and no one else. And from today onwards, Grunt 38— hmm, your name is Kent, right?  
  
Ritchie blinked.  
  
"Never was too fond of the number system. As I was saying, Grunt Kent, I'm your new taskmaster from today onwards. As an Executive, I'm allowed to have a personal group of grunts who answer to me and me alone. Currently, I have two teams working under me, with each of them having a _situational Captain _in command in my absence. As it turns out, my Team #2 is currently one member short, so this is an opportunity for you to fill up on the slot."

"..."  
  
"I have no use for mute bastards, 38. So either speak or get out."  
  
"I— I mean—"  
  
Butch arched an eyebrow.  
  
"Yes, sir. I'm willing to join. If you'll have me, sir."  
  
"Indeed? Do you know the consequences of joining under an Executive, instead of a Grunt Captain?"  
  
Ritchie shook his head.  
  
"What do they teach in— never mind," the man barked, "working under a Grunt Captain means you become a Captain in due time. Working under an Executive means that you're being groomed. You'll stay a grunt until you achieve the prowess worthy of the Executive position. Which means several years of dedicated work. I'd also like to think that when it comes to training, I know a little bit more than those tardy drunkards Cassidy has in her list of captains."  
  
Ritchie filed that information for future contemplation.  
  
"So I'll be… learning from you?"  
  
"Not sure about the learning part, but we'll give it a try. A half-handicapped raichu, a comatose charmeleon, and a team of half-ragged, unevolved shitholes— what were you drinking when you decided to attack that trainer back in Pallet?"  
  
Ritchie bristled at the insult but didn't react to it. He had blamed himself enough for that mistake. It was in the past though, and nothing he said or did would change the present, nor the future.  
  
"No grunt under my command should ever hold such a ridiculous team. Perhaps you'll listen to my suggestion and get rid of the more pathetic ones?? Swellow are rather swift, and raichu, are not to be underestimated— regardless of how much it reminds me of the dirty old man. Get rid of the tentacool and metapod. Visit the reserve and catch yourself something worth training."  
  
Ritchie didn't say a word.  
  
"Nothing to say?"  
  
"I think… I'll keep my team. They might not be up to anyone's high standards, but they have been with me through everything. I am not going to abandon them."  
  
Butch blinked. "Idealist, eh? Need I remind you, that you caught them in the first place? If you hadn't captured them, they'd be happily grazing at... wherever you picked them from."  
  
Ritchie felt his anger stir at those harsh words, regardless of how true they might be.  
  
"Either way, no subordinate of mine should hold such sub-par resources, and as such, it falls upon you to bring your half-assed team to fighting capability."  
  
"I understand, sir."  
  
"Good, there are only three rules that you need to remember. One, you do everything I say. Two, your judgment is not better than mine. Do everything I tell you to. Three, never forget rules 1 and 2. If you end up breaking the rules without proper justification… well, the empty slot in group #2 speaks for itself."  
  
"...what happened to… him?"  
  
"Killed the bastard myself."  
  
_Right. No pressure and everything._  
  
"Any questions, recruit Kent?"  
  
"...No sir. None at all."  
  
Butch— Executive Butch, Ritchie mentally corrected—sat down on his chair, and opened the drawer, pulling out what seemed like a— _a pokéball?_ —and placed it on the table.  
  
"Take it?"  
  
"What's—?" Ritchie began before he realized what he was holding, "Is this the replacement for my charmeleon? I'm not going to throw away Zippo just because—"  
  
"Shut your trap, recruit," the man barked, "I'm not obligated to listen to your self-righteous rants. You crossed the line when you joined Team Rocket. All that sense of fair play, duty, and whatnot— you left them behind when you entered these halls for the first time. Regardless of your wishes, this pokémon—", he pointed at the ball in Rictchie's palm—"is going to be your number one member to fall back on, when things get ugly. And things _will _get ugly, more than you think. Pokémon awarded to our employees are docile, and will follow commands as long as you hold their pokéball. They are bound to the ball, not to you, so don't waste time in getting mushy with this one. Is that clear?"  
  
Ritchie nodded.  
  
"Now stop gawking. Release it and see what it is."  
  
"...Right." Not wanting to suffer further provocation, he clicked the release button, allowing the creature to escape in a flood of red light. It took a moment for the lights to condense, but when it did, the results were nothing short of… astonishing.  
  
It was bipedal, with a body that seemed to be created out of condensed flames. If not for the puckered beak-like mouth, small circular eyes, and the metallic claws at the end of its hands and legs, Ritchie could have sworn that he was staring into sentient, hellfire given form. Flames erupted on its back, right from the base of its neck, traveling along the spine, and extending out in the form of a tail. Its mere presence alone transformed the air-conditioned room into a sweltering heat sink. It reminded him of Frodomar City in mid-summer.  
  
"A magmar," Ritchie breathed.  
  


* * *

  
The days following his accepting the deal with Executive Butch had been the most tiring episode of his life. Apparently, the man was a believer in taking the concept of '_working to death' _literally. Ritchie was no stranger to diligence— in fact, it was one of those things he was naturally inclined towards, but Butch took it a step above.  
  
The man was cruel, extremely so, both towards his subordinates, as well as his own pokémon. That being said, he was even crueler to himself. He had yet to see the rest of his compatriots that served him. Apparently, he'd be introduced to them once he and his team were fit enough to stand alongside them, or some bullshit.  
  
Zippo had finally woken up, and was back in action, though it was obvious that something had _changed _in the charmeleon. He ate his food, followed his orders, and performed everything that Ritchie asked him to. But_, _and it was a big, Zippo maintained a rigid demeanor when interacting with him, almost like he was following commands because of _allegiance, _and not because of his affection or care for his trainer.  
  
"Flamethrower," Butch commanded.  
  
Zippo lifted his maw and let flames rush outwards. The hot fire burnt the grass all around the target— a rock boulder —but the boulder remained untouched.  
  
"Pitiful," The Executive sneered. "Tell me Recruit, do you even _understand _what a Flamethrower is?"  
  
"Umm…"  
  
"Speak clearly." Butch rebuked.  
  
Ritchie quaked at the sudden reprimand. "Gather flames and then release them at the target at high pressure."  
  
Butch arched an eyebrow. "Did that dismal demonstration seem like a high-pressured attack?"  
  
The recruit shook his head.  
  
"Flamethrower isn't just gathering flames and vomiting them out. Your fire-type must connect to its reserves, and pull out a single stream of heavily concentrated fire. The strongest fire-types can keep on going with a Flamethrower until its reserves are empty. That is how you get a constant _sea _of flames, for as long as you need. A real Flamethrower is scary because it is unending. And that is without considering altering the _intensity." _The man paused. "That thing your charmeleon did—it wasn't a flamethrower. It was an overpowered Flame Burst that went wrong because you were too lazy to concentrate."  
  
Ritchie looked considerably chastised. "I didn't know that."  
  
"Of course you didn't. What do they teach in schools nowadays? Anyway, Magmar, Flamethrower."  
  
Magmar followed the orders instantly, belching out a sea of raging fire out of his beak-like mouth. The temperature itself made his skin boil, forcing Ritchie to take a step back to avoid getting scalded. The flames washed over the rock boulder. The moment it was done, the entire boulder was red with the sweltering heat, with parts of it half-melted.  
  
"Now that's what a standard Flamethrower is like," The Executive commented with a wry grin. "Vulcan—that's my own Magmortar—would have melted it to slag even when he was a regular magmar. That should tell you just how far you have to go to attain strength. It took me over a decade of struggle to get to where I am, and it will be worse for you, especially if you keep sticking to your stubbornness instead of actually taking control of your life."  
  
"Can I too… reach that altar of strength?" Ritchie asked, slightly humbled at Magmar's demonstration and Butch's words.  
  
"Altar of strength? Hah!" The man laughed. "If this is what you think the altar of strength is, you are in for a rude awakening, boy."  
  
"You mean—there is more? Even for your magmortar?"  
  
Butch looked at him with a strange expression on his face. It was almost wistful. "Maybe if you're lucky, you'll be able to see what strength really is. And when you do, your world will never be the same ever again."  
  
Ritchie nodded dumbly.  
  
"Now back to work," The man commanded. "You have the end of this week to get yourself up to speed. Should you be able to defeat Magmar—under my orders—with your entire team, then I'll consider you passed. If not, Magmar returns to me, and you get back to training to become a grunt for the next month. No pressure, eh?"  
  
_I really, really hate this brute._  
  


* * *

  
And just like that, the week had passed. Butch had been pushing him and his team to hell and back— hours of grueling training, followed by theoretical question/answer session on types, as well as the theory behind the types. Whoever had thought that the amount of study material mugged up by students was enough to make a proper trainer out of them had yet to meet Butch. Ritchie was being taught the explicit details— pokémon physiology, attack formations, attack levels, and move-chains. Butch was teaching him how to be a really versatile trainer.  
  
And of course, the dirty bastard was not satisfied with that. After those grilling sessions, he'd put Ritchie into the ring, and beat the ever-loving shit out of him. Something about endurance training or something equally bullshit. Personally, Ritchie thought the man was a sadist of the highest order and was simply abusing his position to fulfill his twisted fantasies.  
  
At the end of the ninth day, he had finally been able to defeat the magmar with his team. Ironically enough, the deed had been from his newly evolved Butterfree, hitting the magmar with a blast of Confusion. Zippo and Sparky had taken advantage of the opportunity and combined a Fire Punch and an Iron Tail onto the magmar's knees, making the fire-type fall into a crouch. A powerful Water Gun from Squishy had ended the battle.  
  
Butch hadn't been impressed.  
  
"Well, if nothing else, you have the sheer dumb luck needed to pull off a victory like that. But a win is a win I suppose and I'll keep my word. From today onwards, you're part of Team 2. Congratulations. Now it's time to meet your new team. Come with me."  
  
Butch led him to a separate training area containing a guy that looked close to eighteen, and a girl that looked around Ritchie's own age, both dressed in army uniforms like the ones the Executive wore when he was on Coach-duty. Both stepped forward from the shadows, waiting for further orders.  
  
_Neat. _Ritchie marveled. Compared to his own T-Shirt and casual jeans, the two looked more formal and had a stronger physical presence than himself. In fact, between the curly-haired blonde girl with her standoffish demeanor, and the dirty-yellow haired guy with that annoying smug smile on his face, Ritchie felt like the odd one out.  
  
"Meet Astrid," Butch directed towards the girl whose calm stare told Ritchie plenty about her, "—and Trip,"—the guy gave him a condescending smile— "They are your future teammates. Your uniform should be in your room. Go on, introduce yourself. I'll expect you on the field tomorrow morning, five. We'll start with a little physical workout."  
  
With those parting words, the Executive stepped and walked out of the area, crossing past the door towards the staff quarters, leaving Ritchie alone to deal with his new teammates.  
  
"Uhm, hi?"  
  
"Do you have a name, new guy?" The girl, Astrid asked.  
  
"I think 'new-guy' is good enough. It's not like anyone from the countryside is any good." Trip sneered at Ritchie. He gave him a condescending smirk.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"It talks!" Trip exclaimed.  
  
"Funny," Ritchie snapped, before turning towards the girl, "I'm Ritchie. Ritchie Kent from Frodomar City."  
  
"Basically you're from the boonies." Trip repeated with disdain.  
  
"And what wonderland are you from?" Ritchie snapped back angrily.  
  
"Unova," Trip replied, his voice carrying the admiration he had for his homeland.  
  
"That place where people put darumaka-shit on themselves to stay warm in winter?" Ritchie goaded, "awesome place your Unova is. I've heard a lot about it."  
  
"Yeah?" Trip snarled. He knew about that old custom practiced in the upper hills of Unova's Moor of Icirrus, and how it tarnished Unova's pride and reputation in front of the rest of the world. "Your Frodomar City? You know what I've heard of that?"  
  
"What?" Ritchie asked, somewhat curious as well.  
  
Trip glared before his expressions shifted to a smirk. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."  
  
"Why you—?"  
  
"If the both of you are just going to waste the day trash-talking, I'll be excusing myself," Astrid interjected. "We need to get up early tomorrow. And you, new guy, you better pull your shit together and not get started with Trip in front of Executive Butch. "  
  
"Yeah, you keep your toe in the line, new-guy. Either way, you'll probably end up just like Ha—"  
  
"Trip!" Astrid snapped.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, big deal!" Trip waved her off, walking off. "Steer clear and follow my orders when on the field. Butch won't like a second… ex-member on his list."  
  
Ritchie watched him go. He didn't need to be a genius to understand that Trip would be a hard teammate to deal with.  
  
_At least Astrid seems more reasonable._  
  
"I'm from Kalos," Astrid spoke with a clear tone, "I was arrested by pokémon rangers when I captured an absol from the reserve. Managed to outrun them. Stuff happened, and now I'm here, working for Executive Butch. I'm good with recon and long-ranged attacks."  
  
"That's an… odd way to start an introduction," Ritchie replied.  
  
Astrid shrugged. "There's hardly anything _normal _about this, is there? Trainers turned criminals, and are now trying to climb the ladder in a parallel government that exists in the shadows."  
  
Ritchie snorted at that. "That's a first." He extended his hand. "Well, I'm more of a normal kind of guy, so a boring intro for me. Orphan got into trouble and messed things up for myself and my team. Somehow, I managed to scrape enough luck to get myself here."  
  
"Well that was descriptive," Astrid drawled.  
  
Ritchie shrugged. He wasn't in a particularly chatty mood.  
  
Astrid chuckled at that. "Butch told us he gave you a magmar. That must mean that you're going to be the main-line fighter of our group. Trip, he's good at… tripping others, I guess. Not very reliable, but he's good at what he does. He got a dugtrio from him."  
  
"Does Coach—I mean, Executive Butch give every grunt a pokémon?"  
  
Astrid considered his question. "Come to think of it, our old teammate didn't get any, though he had a rather powerful heracross, but it was… killed in battle." She paused, "I managed to bond with my absol quite well, but he gave me a rather rare pokémon that fits my battle style."  
  
"Hooah! What's that?"  
  
"A kecleon," Astrid looked at him with a smile. "It's a rather strange one for a pokémon, but it is useful if I say so myself." She lifted a stray piece of her hair that was falling in front of her eyes and tucked it behind her ears.  
  
Ritchie thought that she looked rather cute while doing that.  
  
"I don't know much about absol. Never seen or heard about one, you see." Ritchie admitted.  
  
Astrid chuckled. "Somehow that tells me that you and Absol will have a wonderful first introduction then. Either way, do you know about our first mission?"  
  
Ritchie shrugged. "Butch said it'd be something about Pewter City. Though, he said that my job would be part of the distraction squad."  
  
"That makes thirty-seven of us," Astrid chuckled. "Butch wasn't joking when he said that it'd be the most important event in the last five years."  
  
"Huh? What's happening in Pewter?"  
  
Astrid leaned in closer. "Butch has been very tight-lipped about the whole thing. Most of the details are on a need to know basis. But something big is gonna happen. They're calling it the Collapse Protocol."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	17. Interlude 2 - Mia

Silent watchful eyes stared at the newcomer, as she stepped past the cherry blossom trees, a little blinking device in the human's hand. The intruder—a female —young by human standards, stepped into her little garden, peeping around as if trying to spot something there. She was dressed in a funny way, or at least, so it seemed.

And then their eyes met.

The watchful eyes blinked. Twice.

The human smiled.

And just like that, the spell was broken.

"Ah, a ralts. I knew I'd find one eventually."

The little ralts looked downward, not wanting to meet the human's eyes. The green bangs on her head fell over her red eyes, hiding them from the human's sight. The reddish protrusions on her head told her that the human meant no harm, but then, why didn't she leave? And why were her emotions shining so brightly?

_Hot—Honey—Sunlight—Smell of—_

And yet, she'd not go. She'd not leave. She kept staring at Ralts, and Ralts was confused. Ralts had no sense of identity, yet she was Ralts, and Ralts were… Ralts. She wasn't a Kirlia, not yet, and would not—not until she developed into something more than Ralts, yet being a Ralts. It was kind of confusing, but the elders had explained that it would taste of dew and wet grass and petals, but she wasn't there yet, and why was the human staring at her like that?

Ralts didn't know how to curse, so she pouted instead. Perhaps that would send the human away?

"..."

It still wasn't working. Her senses told her that the human had no negative intentions. So Ralts was safe. Provisionally, at least. She didn't know how to speed up like some of the other members of her little tribe. Something about pushing the energy in her to somehow move faster. If she were a Kirlia, she could have used it. Why there was even a Gardevoir that used _Push._ But Ralts was small. She had only seen three summers, and this human seemed far too complex for her to comprehend. Perhaps she could try dancing a little jig instead?

"I am not going to hurt you," the intruder female spoke again. "I just want to be your friend. Do you think I can touch you?"

Touch her? Ralts considered her situation. She was sitting on the lower branches of a cherry blossom tree. Not an ideal hiding location, but in her defense, there weren't supposed to be non-harmful intruders in the first place. Why were these humans so confusing?

Ralts pouted again.

"Hey mom, where did you go and— Whoa, what's that?"

"Shhhh!" The woman hissed agitatedly, and the second intruder stopped short.

Ralts looked up. It was a tinier humanling. A male, from the voice, or so she thought. A little kid—_happy—wanting attention—surprise—wish to impress and get attention and—_

And she blinked.

Red eyes met red eyes.

Ralts blinked again.

"Whoa!" The humanling with ralts-like eyes spoke out loud. Humans loved to speak out loud for some reason. Emotions were far simpler. Far less complex. Far easy to comprehend. Far less prone to being contorted. The humanling had rather complex emotions.

Ralts tilted her head.

_He feels like… pollen._

"Do you want a pastry?"

Ralts blinked. A pastry? She knew of flowers and dew and sunlight, but pastry? She sniffed around. There was a strange aroma— not unlikeable, just strange and new. And delicious.

Ralts sniffed again.

Yes, the smell was still there.

"Here, try this," The humanling extended his hand, and at the very tip, was some kind of… food? Ralts did not know. It smelt good. Maybe it would taste just as good? She slowly extended her left arm outwards, and grabbed onto the circular thing— a pastry, was it?

The humanling let it go.

Ralts sniffed. Yes, the aroma had come from this… pastry. Deciding to trust in the humanling, she pushed herself forward and bit into it and—

_Mmmmmmmmm….._

It was bliss.

* * *

Living in a lab wasn't very fun.

Ralts frowned. _Not fun at all._

It had been a fortnight since she had been brought to this new place. A place, not a home. Home had a cherry blossom garden. This one had apple trees, orchards, and big forests all around, but no cherry blossoms. So no, this wasn't home.

The human female came in every day and went back every day. Ralts was allowed to stay in her tiny garden with the other ralts, but she wanted to go back to the cherry blossom tree. There were kirlia there and gardevoir too. Being near a gardevoir felt amazing, The ralts and humans around here didn't feel nearly as nice. Yesterday a man came in that smelt of fresh grass and milk and acorns, but nothing that Ralts liked.

Yes, Ralts definitely didn't like staying here.

"Hey Mom, are you here? I wanted to see if—" The intruder paused, as his red eyes met Ralts' own. This was the humanling that smelled of pollen. Why was he here? Was Ralts going to be taken to a new garden? Did the humanling bring more of those blissful, delicious, baked _happiness _called pastries?

Ralts felt an odd sensation inside her stomach. It wasn't happiness, but if she had to put a name to it, she'd call it a good feeling.

"Are you… Are you the ralts from the other day?"

Ralts tilted her head. Couldn't he recognize her? She was tiny, but she could tell every ralts apart. Perhaps this humanling was a little dim. She could never tell. Fascinating creatures, humans were intelligent while dim at the same time. Any ralts would have known that she wanted another pastry, but this humanling clearly had no idea.

Dim, with a little honey and pollen. _Honey? Missing— Looking for his mother?_

_How confusing._

The boy was staring at her now, carefully. Ralts covered her eyes with her hair. She did not like being stared at. Slowly, the boy extended his hand forward. Her nose twitched excitedly. It was the same smell from the other day. The good one. The blissful one. Almost afraid he would change her mind, she quickly grabbed it before she nibbled it slowly.

_Such things,_ she decided, _must be savored._

"_You are the same one," _the boy declared triumphantly. "_I knew it."_

…

What was the boy talking about?

"I'm Red," he continued. "And you are… are…" The humanling seemed confused. "Ralts ummm… 01?"

Ralts tilted her head at that. Ralts ummm 01? What was that?

The boy frowned in the same way she had seen some of the other ralts frown when they couldn't reach an apple on a tree.

"You don't have a name do you?" The boy asked after a while, the amazed expression stuck on his face, "Why are pokémon named after themselves? Bit odd, don't you think?"

Named after themselves? What else should they be named after? Someone else? That didn't sound right.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about do you?"

This time, Ralts nodded her head. The humanling was not that dim after all.

"See everything's got a name," the child continued animatedly, "like that pastry—"

Ralts leaped a few steps back, as the humanling came dangerously close to her—and the pastry.

"Don't worry," the humanling went on, "I won't take that one. But that's called a pastry, so that's its name."

Ralts was having a hard time following. The pastry was baked happiness that smelt of delicious aromas she'd never smelt before but saying that was a mouthful. Was… pastry a short form for that? Was that what he meant?

"So what do you want to be called?" The child looked at her expectantly.

"..."

"..."

Did he expect her to think of that? Dealing with this humanling was _hard_. Well, she liked pastries. They were delicious. Though she was sure she would like other things too. How did humans decide on their names anyway? Red… was he named after Ralts's eye color? And what did Delia even mean? All humans looked so different that she had assumed that each was named after whatever variant they were.

Well, since humans were so good at making these… names, maybe she would just let the humanling— _Red_ —pick. She looked into his wide, expectant eyes carefully. How could she tell him though? They seemed to use incredibly complicated verbal cues to communicate. Being a Ralts was much easier.

"Mmmmm," She tried, the sound all she could manage with her underdeveloped vocal cords.

"Hmmm," The boy mused. " I got it! From now on, you can be Mia"

Ralts felt an odd warmth well up inside her and smiled, the happiness wafting off the boy being almost contagious. She didn't exactly get the name, but she could deal with it if it caused this much joy.

* * *

The humanling… was not what she expected. He was strange, and small and ran around her so much that she was starting to feel dizzy.

But he was really happy. And joy was infectious, especially to something like her. Before she knew it, she had a smile on her face and tried to reach out to him.

After the experiment had finished, the humanling— _Red_, she reminded herself — had insisted that they take her home. It wasn't as good as her cherry-blossom trees, but she liked it here. Back there, she could feel others of her kin, and while the lab did have other ralts, the… kinship was somewhat less. Her primary source of excitement and joy was the humanling—_Red, _she corrected herself again.

Why couldn't humanlings be happy being humanlings? He didn't have red fur, or red hair. Perhaps he thought he smelled like saffron, but what part of him looked like a Red? Maybe his eyes? Ralts wanted to correct him over that misunderstanding, but she wasn't capable of expressing her thoughts and feelings in human-speech yet.

_Plus he seems so happy being Red. I think I'll let him keep that title._

"Let's go play outside, Mia!"

Mia— that was what he named her, and wasn't remembering that such a chore? As if thinking of him as _Red _wasn't hard enough. Oh no, the humanling had a misunderstanding that she was a _Mia. _What even was a '_Mia' _anyway? Ralts was hardly an expert on human terminology, and neither did she claim a diverse understanding of the world around her.

But still _Mia?_

If the humanling had to misunderstand, couldn't he at least use a term she knew?

"Come on, Mia."

—Or perhaps she was just hoping for too much. At least he seemed happy about it. Still, it was a lot harder than she thought to get used to it. She had been Ralts for as long as she remembered. Well until she evolved. Then she would be Kirlia. Maybe evolution would help her understand what a '_mia' _was?

Not that she could completely blame the hum—_Red. _He had tried—in his own limited way—to explain the concept of _names _to her. Which was odd. None of the other ralts had names, and she could tell them apart just fine. Perhaps humans named things because they couldn't tell them apart? The pollen humanling— _Red_ she mentally corrected again —had spent an awfully long time staring at her before he recognized her.

The closest thing that they had to names were _titles. _Her mother had told her stories of _Bond, _who had established a link to over five thousand of their kind and of _Claw,_ the gallade who had slain over thirty rhydon to protect their tribes.

But this was different. From what she understood, each and every human got a title at birth, regardless of their achievements. Not only that but the title— name, she reminded herself — was completely random. Or at least she couldn't see a pattern in it.

_How confusing!_

"Come on".

_Impatience—Eagerness— Excitement— Friend?_

Red picked her up directly, causing her to squeak before he took her outside.

He was warm, she decided. Warm, soft and really happy. She felt safe, almost as if she was back in her mother's embrace.

She decided she liked the feeling.

* * *

_Why is he so unhappy?_

A single winter had passed before Ralts had become Kirlia, and yet, Red refused to see her as anything but a _Mia. _He was her favorite person and pastime though, so she had ended up associating herself with it.

Kirlia was now Mia, whatever that meant. Well, she was Mia before, but only recently had she come to embrace it as a connotation in relation to herself. But with evolution came an ability to sense past the superficial, into trenches buried deep within him.

She didn't like what she found there.

_Invalidation— Ridicule— Underestimation— Solitude— Lonely—Left Out—alone._

It was almost like holding something all your life, only to find it slowly charring your hand. Her instincts _screaming, _Kirlia had escaped, not unlike a suffocating man struggling for breath, and avoided Red's presence for days. She had followed her basal instincts and wandered around the gardens of Pallet Town. Near other people who were happy. Where it felt _good. _Like the cake shop. There was a lot of happiness there.

And for a while, it sufficed. She left when he was unhappy and came back whenever he released joy. But it could not last. Whenever her instincts screamed at her to leave him, memories of herself playing with the humanling came to mind. Red had always taken care of her. Spent time with her. Played with her. And with that, came an earnest wish.

_He should be feeling happy too. He should be feeling what I'm feeling. Then why does he look so sad?_

While her instincts still instigated her to leave whenever the bouts of unhappiness crossed Red, she found that she could deal with them by _actively ignoring _his deeper feelings, and focusing on the superficial. But the question still remained.

_Why is he so unhappy?_

It took a lot of courage on her part before she had ventured into the uncharted waters of his mind. Ignoring the ever-growing feeling of wrongness, she delved deeper. It was a place that should have been full of joy. A place that provided her sustenance. A sanctuary in which she refused to allow sorrow to enter.

Slowly, cautiously, Mia grasped her own bundle of happiness. Of joy. Of the enjoyment she found in every act of her life. She grasped it as if it was tangible.

And then, she pushed it into Red.

* * *

_Red left me._

The first time the traitorous thought had flitted through her mind, Mia had almost thrown up. How such a cruel thought filtered through her strong feelings, her unshakeable faith, and her _bond, _she did not know. And yet, the thought hadn't been injected into her. Mia was a creature of emotion, and while a foreign thought could incite strong, natural emotions inside her, her mind would deny it, negate it, destroy it until there wasn't a shard of the original tainted emotion remaining.

And yet, here it was— a simple yet unshakeable idea, like a tiny little pathogen that would initially lie small and low, but would grow into gigantic proportions and devour its host whole. It was a tiny, malicious little thing, but its nature was as dark as the night, and it smelt of decay and rot and charcoal.

She tried to deny it. To ignore it. Pretend it didn't exist—

But it was there. Deep within the recesses of her mind, in the depths of her ever-growing cesspool of emotions, it existed, a little fraction of an anathema, whispering sweet lies, distorting Mia's emotions into a horrid and twisted caricature of itself.

_I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate_…_. And yet._

_Red left me._

The vicious cycle continued to deepen.

Come to think of it, it was around that time she had smelt ice and fur, back earlier when she had met the other fairy, that she had sensed something foreign in Red. Through the course of their bond, she was able to ensure that Red was _never_ unhappy, though at times it cost her— sending her into long bouts of sleep. Mia had never shared this with anyone, not seeing how any good would come out of it.

As far as Red knew, Mia only liked to take short naps.

Now, as her precious person, her _Red, _kept going further and further out of her reach, those little things stood out to her more and more. Mia had been sleeping a lot lately, especially since Red's… traumatizing moment with that electric monstrosity. Mia was a good girl, but something like that was beyond any and all forgiveness. That monstrosity had hurt Red. Her Red.

Kaz may have put it through a sepulcher-lock, but Mia had made it _suffer._

How Mia didn't know. But she had wished the pikachu would _hurt, _and hurt it did. It cried and cried for five days and six nights, throwing out random streaks of electricity all around, before the genial old man that smelt of wood had taken pity on it, and, and…

And…

Mia didn't want to think about it. Those thoughts were anathema to her kind. Some thoughts, some emotions, some truths were better left in the sweet darkness of the night.

And yet, she had been the one that had done it. And it had felt so… Sweet.

Oh, so sweet.

Like the pastries Red always got for her.

Sweet suffering didn't taste of honey and dew, but Mia assumed it was an acquired taste. As it was, it took a strong emotion from Red's side to transmit his emotions and feelings through the bond. Before his unfortunate altercation with the pikachu, Mia had believed the bond to be one-sided. She'd pour in happiness, she'd keep Red happy, and she'd then bask in that over and over. And when the downpour became too great, Mia would rest. She hated resting when she could have danced, but downpours were difficult like that.

And a little pain, a little sweet suffering, Mia didn't mind, especially if it was for Red.

_And now Red has left me._

There went that vicious cycle all over again.

Mia believed Red. When Red believed in something, she did too. It was common sense. Red was her world. If Red thought something existed,it probably did. Perhaps in some remote location far away and Red was just… psychically hypersensitive? Whether he knew of it or not was another thing altogether.

Humans were frail creatures. Best not to overwhelm their minds very much.

With her discovery of the two-way nature of her bond, Mia had waited in patience. Perhaps she'd feel something, _anything, _from Red. Perhaps he was confused? Excited? Proud, happy or just bored? Angry, enraged, hurt?

_Hurt?_

Hurt had strong connotations with powerful emotions, even if it was overwhelmingly negative. But hadn't Mia felt like she'd drown in Red's _pain _when the electricity had consumed him? She had hated it. Prayed for it to go away. For a miracle. She would happily bear the pain so long as he could keep smiling.

And yet, it had been a beguiling euphoria the likes of which had left Mia wanting for more. Not Red's pain, but feeling something that was _Red, _even if it was nothing but pain. It was wrong and alien and taboo on so many levels but Mia would be… would be…

_It was just so sweet._

And now with Red gone with the other fairy, it was this sweetness that Mia craved the most. It was ironic in a way. The last thing she wanted was for Red to feel pain, but with Red away, a sufficiently powerful emotion was required to transmit through the bond. Something consuming. Something overpowering. Something that would occupy his mind to the extent that no other thought could remain. Something like… _pain._

At that moment, Mia hated herself for even thinking such a thing. It was contradictory and horrible and Mia knew that she was being greedy, but she was just that…

Lonely.

Was this what Red felt like back when he was a little humanling?

This was all so strange. The spring was here. She was free to dance to the tune of the fresh green leaves. She was free to sing her heart out and perform graceful dances to please the spirits and the elements around her. The world was happy and smelt of sunshine and even the old man's unorganized herd seemed docile enough for Mia to have some fun with them and yet...

And yet, here she was, sitting alone, in front of the broken window— _her broken window —_waiting for a little sweet suffering to flow in. Such thoughts made her feel worse, made her feel weak, and made her suffer. But despite all this, on some level, it felt sweet.

It was strange and crazy and horrifying all at the same time. This was going to twist and turn into something alien. Those malicious little shreds of darkness were now beginning to taste like sweet suf—

"Mia?" She heard a familiar voice speak its name. Delia—Red's mother. A parent figure for _her _Red—an absent parent figure— _loneliness— wanting acceptance— attention_—_resignation? _The flurry of random emotions flitted across her mind as she instinctively went through what Red thought about her. It was a silly little trick she had invented to _ignore _Red's prolonged absence. She encountered someone close to Red, she felt what Red had felt in a previous situation. She visited the places Red used to frequent and memories of his prior emotions flooded through her psyche. The true depths of her bond with him were uncharted, and Mia had no wish to delve into their depths. She was happy to skim through the surface whenever she wanted.

"Is everything okay?"

Oh right, Delia. _Mom— mother— parent…. Conflicted thoughts— hesitation…._

"Li," Mia whispered, more to herself than to the intruder. As if Delia had any business asking if she was okay when she was responsible for everything. Delia was the one that had brought Mia from her cherry blossoms to survive in the lab. Still, Delia was Red's mother. She no longer smelled of honey and sunlight and instead, all she got was dried leaves, but still… She was Red's parent.

In name only, however.

And what did meaningless things like _names _matter in the world of emotions?

Mia knew Red's mind, his emotions better than he did. She saw the strands, she analyzed the strands, she tinkered with them from time to time. Was this not what all ralts and kirlia did? She wouldn't know. Delia did take her away when she was rather young. She had made… alterations to his psyche when forging the bond— not that there was an alternative. Red would have become a silent, unhappy individual— a dark pit as far as Mia was concerned, and such dark pits were to be avoided at all costs.

Or be altered to something more… workable.

Mia had done exactly that, and then some.

She had twisted the workings of his own psyche, his subconscious. Instead of manipulating his mind to emanate the feelings of _happiness _and _liveliness _in him, she had done something else. She had infused, morphed, amalgamated something that was once hers into his own. She had created a link, a passage-way of sorts, one through which she'd be able to channel pure, unadulterated happiness— her own sustenance —into him.

And it worked.

He felt happiness even with his mother being absent. He felt happiness even when the other humans ignored him. He felt happiness when working himself to exhaustion at the ranch. He felt happiness at everything that once made him sad. And soon, his own psyche began to mimic it all.

It hadn't been without a price.

Kirlia were creatures that _feasted _on positive emotions. To give up happiness was like to draw out her own breath and then hand it over to someone else. It was madness, and it hurt. It hurt and hurt and it hurt so much but hurting meant that Red was happy, and that was sweet.

Suffering was sweet.

So Mia suffered, and Red stayed happy. What did it matter if Delia wasn't present? Red was happy, and Mia had her sweet suffering. What did it matter if he had to be content with staying alone? Mia was there to suffer for him, and thus, he was happy. She'd sink and feast upon Red's own happiness, but when the hurt went beyond her control, she slept. She slept soundly.

And Red stayed happy.

But now… Red wasn't there. He was away. She didn't need to push _emotions _into him. He was too far away, but she did it anyway. It was second nature. She had grown to survive on her new diet, even if it might kill her in the end. Maybe there would be dew and grass and petals…

_And pollen?_

Kirlia were empathetic, and not very attuned to rational impulses. How could they be, when they were always swimming in an ocean of unrestrained _feelings? _So Mia kept sending positive vibes, hoping Red would be receiving them, and in return, feel happy, even though she'd not get anything back. It was killing her from inside, and she could feel herself growing weaker and weaker… Unless he felt great pain and sent jolts of agony through their precious bond, even if it might…

Mia blinked.

Why was Delia looking at her like she had just seen an otherworldly one? Those that hid in the darkness beyond the world were dangerous, and Kaz had warned her of them several summers ago.

_Then why?_

…

...

Well, let no one say that Mia wasn't inquisitive.

She dived into the woman's psyche.

Concern—affection—wariness—something like pity —disappointment — urgency —smell of rotten leaves? But the most surprising of all was—

_She's concerned for me? But why? She should be concerned about Red. Confusing and erratic and—_

Mia did not like being confused. She dug deeper, and the more she did, the more the _abnormal _feelings began to sicken her—

"_**I don't understand why he's so… obsessed with being a trainer!" Delia ranted, "he has a sharp mind, something that would serve him well as a researcher, or an analyst. I know my son, and he's damn good at that. Why can't he just do what I say for once?"**_

"_**You know you didn't tell him anything, Delia," Oak refuted softly, "You didn't even talk to him about the apprenticeship."**_

"_**I sent Kaz," Delia waved off her concern, "you know I was engaged with the Convention. Besides, I was proved right, wasn't it? My son could have been killed, professor. That pikachu—"**_

"_**Was an accident!" The old man fought back. "I have apologized for it and I can do so again, but that's not the point. If you want to ensure that your son chooses a different—"**_

"_**What good will it do to him anyway?" Delia exploded. "What did the life of a trainer give me? Running into dangerous places over and over, all for the sake of League-sponsored exploration. If not for you, I'd have been stuck there forever, maybe even dead at the hands of some monstrosity."**_

"_**Delia, I understand your father had some… strict ideologies but—"**_

"_**I don't care, Professor," Delia returned gravely. "I won't allow my son to go through all that."**_

"_**Delia, you have barely given him the attention he deserves. The boy has literally grown up in my ranch." Oak responded sadly. "You think you understand him as his mother, but I'm not sure Red thinks the same."**_

_ **That cut Delia short. She turned away, a shadow falling upon her face. "I know that. I try to give him time, to know him better, but… but my work…"** _

"_**Is it really because of your work, or because you weren't ready to have that child in the first place?"**_

"_**I love my son" Delia began hotly, " How can you—"**_

Mia stilled, almost as if paralyzed. Whatever the old man wanted to convince the woman didn't matter. What the woman's reasons were— those were meaningless as well. Only one single thought, a single picture, a single emotion was all that mattered. An emotion that had resulted from what the man had stated.

The idea of a world _without _Red.

It was unfathomable, incomprehensible, alien and completely taboo to her. For Mia, whose sole existence was subjective to Red's presence, the mere thought of a world without her sustenance, without Red, felt wrong.

Mia almost staggered, as if suffocating from the lack of air, her powers going disarray. It was as if someone was actively choking her, forcing her lungs dry. This was fear, an incomprehensible horror that permeated her entire being, and she knew it'd push her past the precipice of her fraying sanity, throw her into an abyss that left nothing but darkness in its wake.

For the first time in her life, Mia did something no kirlia had ever done. She _retaliated._

The concept of a struggle was alien to the Ralts line. They could not teleport, but what they could do was create an emotional outpour in the mind of the intruder, irritating them enough to leave if the ralts felt uncomfortable in their presence. This was the limit of their retaliation. To fight, to cause pain, or to revel in someone's agony— those were anathema to them.

But Mia?

Mia had stopped being a kirlia a long time ago. Now, she was just _Mia. _whatever that was. She was _Mia—_an existence that was kept manifested upon the planet because of her connection to one single human.

To Red.

And this woman dared to conceive of a world without him in it.

Mia let go. If this human could conceive the idea of such a blank world, Mia would inundate Delia's world with nothing but Red. She'd ensure that the woman understood what Red was, that she'd comprehend the utter taboo she had just committed.

The dam broke.

_ **Him staring down the hall, waiting for his mother to see him. The woman closed the door and left— He stared at the closed door and walked away—** _

_ **Parents Teachers meet— "Mom, will you be able to—?"— "Red, I'll be off for the next two weeks for a convention. Can you eat at Pineco's?"— Indifference— silence— lack of attention— "Nothing mom, I'm fine!"—** _

"_**Hey look at that! Even his mom stays away"— "Leave me alone"— "Stupid ranch boy, smell ya later"—**_

"_**Come on Mia, I promise I'll get you something tomorrow, you know I can't make pastries like mom does"— Mia dancing— A sudden burst of happiness from the sad boy— Red laughing—**_

"_**Goddammit"— a gash ran up his leg— "Stupid nidoran"— "Oh nothing, I just scraped my knee on a twig"— "a really sharp twig"—**_

"_**I'll become a trainer. Like Lance. We'd have dragons, who'd be our friends, and then you can dance in front of them"— little Mia was squirming in laughter— "When I become a trainer, I'll take you with me, then you won't be alone like me, I mean, hey what are you"—**_

_ **Mia watching Red from the other side of the glass—his body blackened and burnt, blood seeping out— pain— Hands shaking— Nerves flaring— Skin burning—Mind shutting down— with pain— burning uncontrollable pain— Red screamed—** _

Mia broke the gaze and looked away.

The woman— Delia —Red's mother in name, seemed transfixed. Mia didn't know what to think anymore. The regurgitation of Red's emotions— even if they had been negative —acted like an aphrodisiac for her twisted core, filling her up. She _hated _it, hated herself with her entire being, and yet—

It had been so _sweet._

Mia didn't wait a moment longer. She couldn't be bothered with the woman anymore. With a soft grunt, her powers activated. A burst of silvery winds blew all around her, and before the woman even opened her eyes, Mia vanished.

* * *

_Drip._

The sound reverberated through Mia's mind as she started moving forward. Where to, she did not know but she knew her goal lay onward. Her little feet crushed through the foliage on the floor, the sounds of shattered glass creating a haunted feel around her. The abyss loomed around her, but all she cared for where the shifting memories filtering through her mind.

A bird melting, blood oozing out of it— _Sorrow. _A giant spider, vicious acid dripping down upon raw skin— _Fear. _Red, ralts-like eyes— _Despair—Giving up — Acceptance of Death._

_Burning flames— pain-filled cries—desperation — smile—_

—_Silence?_

_The flames charring the flesh—_

Mia tried to shut her ears to prevent the grating sounds from ripping into her head—or was that smell—no, she remembered seeing molten metal and blood—

_Drip._

_He_ grinned. Blood trickled out of his lips, drip by drip. A tooth fell and blood poured out, gushing like a fountain as a venomous screech jarred her senses before biting into flesh—

Mia screamed. What was going on? What— Who was she? A Kirlia— No, she was a… a _Mia._ Her mind was being surprisingly unhelpful. The red-eyed one. He was important to her. Her entire being said so.

Her head hurt.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. She slowly looked around. It was dark and there were trees all around her. Even still her feet kept moving forward. Where to, she did not know.

_Drip._

The forest slowly grew thicker and the path continued onward. She didn't know how she had come here. She didn't know where she was going. She didn't know why she was going. She just knew she had to. It was like the place—her destination —held a terrible secret she knew but was refusing to comprehend. Like an old wound that was beginning to squeeze out fresh, warm blood every time it—

_Drip._

She didn't know how long she had been walking. All she knew was that she just _had to, _she had to reach there—somewhere in the middle of this ever-expansive abyss, and going there would—

_Drip._

What was she thinking about again. Mia tried to stop. To look around her and try to figure out where she was. Yet her legs moved anyway.

Without her desire.

Without her control.

It was a horrible feeling. As if comprehension was just at the edge of her mind but she simply could not grasp it. It was a wonder she could even remember her _name. _She was—

_Drip._

What was her name again? Name? Title? She was a—a—

_Why is it so difficult to remember?_

_Drip._

And what was that sound? Slowly, almost forcefully, she turned her head to a tree in front of her. A red-drop hung off the edge almost like dew. Mia was transfixed as the translucent shard, shone a twisted crimson, as it slowly fell before splattering on the ground.

_Drip._

She recognized the liquid. It was—

Her mind blanked out. Her legs led her forward, as she continued moving into the forest, a sense of foreboding rising within her. She knew that she must reach the end of the path. How she would do that, or why she should do so, did not matter. Such questions had already vanished from her mind.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

The pitter-patter of dewdrops— or was it rain? She didn't know, but the noises were coming faster. It was strange, for all she could see was the abyss engulfing her.

_Drip._

Another translucent shard splattered in front of her. Despite the sound suggesting that countless such drops were falling, not a single one touched her.

_Drip._

It shattered into sparkles of crimson, staining the grass beneath a dull crimson. She didn't know how she saw the stains when nothing was visible, but—

_Drip._

Her eyes, almost forcefully, were raised upward as her legs continued to take her down the path.

The eerie feeling of wrongness was going stronger. She was forgetting something. Something important. Mia tried hard to remember.

_Drip._

She needed to remember. It was important. More than anything else in her life. There was something there, deep within her. If she let it go, she would lose it forever. How she knew this, she did not know but somehow, she was sure that it was so.

_Drip._

Red, crystal-like blades of light shone in the distance as the gap between the trees opened up. The forest was getting less dense and a clearing lay before her. Somehow she knew that this was her destination.

The slow-dripping had turned into a continuous pitter-patter as the red liquid fell like rain. Mia felt herself choke, an unreasonable, uncontrollable nausea rising up deep within her. She wanted to sit down and shut her eyes and ears. She wanted to run away from this all. She wanted to vanish from this horrible, horrible place with no end. She wanted to scream her lungs out. She wanted—

_Drip._

Mia came to a halt. Evidently she had reached… wherever it was she was supposed to.

The tempest raging in her mind grew stronger. Feelings of hate, feelings of pain, feelings of… absence, hopelessness—the feeling that _she _was going to die—

_Drip._

It ripped through her mind, through her body, through her soul, through everything that made her a kirlia. No, not a kirlia, she reminded herself. A _Mia._

The queer little blob of darkness festering within shifted and a tendril so dark that it appeared to suck the light out of its surroundings began to rise within her. For a second, Mia thought that she'd die of suffocation. She tried to breathe, but it did not help. She tried to scream, but no sound escaped her.

A prisoner in her own body.

A prisoner in her own mind.

She wished she would die, but even death would not take her. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. There was only pain, the very suffering she had grown to relish so much.

Mia begged for it to end. For something to happen. Anything. Anything to distract her from the _thing_ inside her.

_Drip._

Nothing came.

After several painful, tense moments, another feeling encompassed her. She had thought that nothing could be worse than the pain, but the gnawing sensation had already moved from her stomach and began to encompass her mind.

_I... I feel so hungry._

It felt awful— her entire mind submerged in pain. Pain, despair, and sorrow. The feeling of letting everyone around you down. Of failure. Of giving up. And yet within those feelings was familiarity.

Mia grasped it, the sole beacon of light in this endless sea of misery. And the _thing_ retreated. Slowly sinking back into her depths.

_Red_, her mind supplied.

_What was that?_

She did not know, but she knew it was important to her. That she could not let go no matter what. Or else it would come back.

It was an instinctive feeling. A repulsive feeling. The feeling one gets when they look at everything about themselves that they cannot acknowledge. All she knew was if that thing came back… she wouldn't be Mia anymore.

The sad part was, Mia didn't— couldn't —care. A part of her wanted to bask in the darkness, wanted to absorb it, become one with it.

During all this time, the little blob— the darkness, it stayed right there, within her arm's reach. All she had to do was _grab _it.

_Drip._

The hunger was getting worse. Much worse. And she instinctively knew, that all she needed to do… was touch the blob.

Mia couldn't help herself. She wanted it to end.

Reaching out, she grabbed it.

A flood of madness and horror and pain and raw, shrieking loneliness so intense it chilled her to her soul, all running rampant through her brain without her consent or any response to her attempts to fight it off. This thing was not merely assaulting her physical form, it was laying waste to the territory of her soul, the most hideous indignity imaginable.

And yet, that was not all. With the pain came a ravenous hunger. With the hunger, came _power. _Raw, untamed power. More power than Mia had ever thought could exist. Power that she instinctively knew was hers. And yet she could not touch it.

"_Beautiful, isn't it?"_

Mia had to physically restrain herself from jumping out in horror at the voice. A familiar voice. She looked around her. She looked above. She looked below.

No one. Nothing.

_Drip._

She was standing in the middle of the clearing, shadows of tall, burnt trees all around her. There was no smoke. How she knew they were burnt, she had no idea. But what was this voice? And what was this familiar pain?

"_Are you wondering why you can't remember?"_

"I just…." Mia heard herself speak, "I just want to… I just want to go _home."_

"_Home?"_ The voice seemed amused. "_Where is your… home.?"_

"It is—" Mia began, frustration and terror rising up in her, "I— I can't— I can't remember. I don't know. I don't—"

"_Are you wondering why you can't remember?"_

Mia almost felt her ears cringe at the sickeningly sweet tone. "I just—"

"_Are you going to cry?"_

Mia shook her head furiously.

"_Do you want to cry?"_

"No!" Mia wanted to say. Instead, she just took a step back.

"_I can help you cry!"_

"Please…" Mia begged, "I want to go home."

_Drip._

Mia glanced down on the ground, only to find it no longer there. Instead, it was covered with a strange, sticky liquid. A layer that was slowly rising as the crimson droplets continued to fall. Slowly an image appeared in her mind. The red-eyed one along with some others.

There was a metal bird, a small lavender growlithe, a small purple shell, and a small yellow creature— Mawile, her mind supplied. Her heart throbbed. The scene was important to her. Somehow.

_Drip._

A figure formed in the translucent rain. Mia raised her hand and called out to it. It was important to her. Somehow.

The human teen, he did not turn back.

"Li….." She warbled, "Kirli… lia?" Her voice distorted not even understandable to herself.

He did not notice. Instead, he glanced down at the yellowish creature beside him. "Come on Mawile, let's go. We still have to see the world!"

"_You cannot speak to him,"_ the voice said cruelly.

"...Lia?" She tried again.

"_He can never understand you."_ A scornful laugh filled her mind.

The teen—Red, her mind supplied—did not listen. He did not care. He didn't… didn't want her.

"_There is no place for you." _The seductive voice whispered in her ear.

Mia shook her head valiantly. She would not listen to this… whatever it was that was speaking to her. She would not. She would—

Red continued to walk away, while the creature—Mawile, she remembered— twisted its neck and sent a sly smirk at her, before mewling in pleasure, her little steps quickly following his own.

Mia's outstretched arm, her unwavering resolve, faltered.

"_Why do you accept this? Why not… take what you want?"_

Her arm drooped. "I… I…" Mia mumbled, her voice once again forming distinct words. "I don't have a choice. Red left me. He—"

"_You can take it back. You can—"_

A shriek tore across the abyss. It was Mawile's scream, and a spray of fresh blood splattered all around her, staining her feet. Mia stumbled.

"—_have everything—"_

Another shriek. This time it sounded like the painful cry of a bird, then another soft squeak, and finally a—

—_All you have to do—"_

Blood erupted like a fountain, engulfing the fresh green grass on the lawn beside the broken window. Mia momentarily wondered how the _window _appeared there before the voice spoke again.

"—_Is ask—"_

_Drip._

"_Of course, you can always turn him into your toy."_

Mia's eyes bulged, realizing who was it that stood in front of her. It was him. Red, and yet not Red. His eyes—they had lost their light, and now seemed dull brown. His face was pale, alive and at the same time, not.

Like a puppet.

A puppet, with broken strings.

This was not Red. This was just an empty husk that was once Red. A human whose mind had been twisted and turned into a horrid caricature that would raise sympathy in the hearts of a psychopath. And within that husk, was Red's childlike mind—trapped, violated, broken.

All for her to play or discard at a whim.

"No…." Mia breathed. "No… No…. NONONONO! I don't want this… I don't want this! You are trying to make me _harm_ Red! Let me go!"

She fell on her back, feeling the sticky, crimson blood staining her body, her skirt, splattering all over her. The red liquid started rising faster almost as if waiting for her to fall within it.

"_Doesn't it hurt, to be the one that's left behind… to be cast aside… to have to drink poison when you are worthy of the sweetest nectar?"_

Mia shook her head violently, pushing herself backward. The splashes only continued, and puppet-Red floated closer to her. It raised its dead hand.

_Drip._

"_I can help you," _The voice purred, "_all you have to do is go to sleep. Forget everything, forget betrayal, forget loneliness, forget hunger… forget everything. Close your eyes... and let me awaken."_

A tendril rose out of the blood beneath her, and coiled itself like a snake around Mia's arms, clenching them in a deathly grip. Another tendril rose and bound her abdomen, pulling her down. Mia tried to move her legs, but they were already bound and sinking into the river of blood below her.

"_Just give up. Sleep, and forget. Allow me to end it. You will only suffer for a little while. Suffering…. Suffering is sweet."_

"I will _never_ harm Red. You… You MONSTER!" Mia screamed, trying her best to free herself, as the blood rose higher and higher. It was now up to her chin, and slowly crawling into her nose, her eyes, her—

The paleness of Red's face disappeared, and his eyes lit up, only to slowly morph into large, crimson ones, the hair splitting in an extremely familiar fashion. The horned protrusions on the top screamed _unnatural, _as Mia found herself gazing at a spitting image of herself— only a dark violet where she had green hair and a cluster of shadows replacing what was once a skirt.

"_Yes," _The darkness grinned, "_and you are me!"_

The crimson pool started rising, a suffocating sent of iron permeating the air.

_Blood,_ she finally realized, almost as if she was only allowed to as she was drowning in it. The figure in front of her smiled even as it loomed above her.

"_Yes,"_ she breathed. "_Sleep little one. I will take care of everything."_

_Red…. _Mia's last thought flickered. _Please…_

_Help._

_Me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	18. Act 2 - Dust of Dreams | Chapter 1 - A Bunch of People Talk to Each Other

** _The ghastly winds passed through him, filling his bones with a morbid winter. The surrounding imagery of green leaves mixed with crimson flames painting the landscape a vivid crimson. He felt something cold and dark and painful shoot up his spine, but he ignored it and kept on running._ **

** _And then it happened._ **

** _Large metallic horns rose from the ground and impaled his chest forcing a metallic, guttural screech—_ **

Red's eyes shot open, a horrifying scream trying to escape his throat trying to move his hand in front of him to avoid the blood dripping off the white ceiling—

He blinked.

_White ceiling?_

He looked up. Yes, the blank whiteness above him was still above him. He tried to move again, tentatively testing his body.

It was futile. He could not move. That was when he remembered.

_That's right. I'm safe now._

He still couldn't believe it. That he had managed to survive. That he had made it out alive.

_Not that this is much better._ He thought pessimistically as he stared at the white ceiling above him. _Can't move, can't speak and all I can see is white._

Between the whiteness above his eyes, and the oxygen mask covering his face all mobility and vision was limited. It was horrible and restrictive and made it impossible to reach the itch that had suddenly developed on the bridge of his nose.

This was probably the fifth time he had opened his eyes. A fleeting period of consciousness before the growing headache forced him back into the comforting embrace of sleep. He'd have welcomed it if not for the nightmarish dreams that were torturing his mind and soul.

_I'm being moved. Again._

Blurry shapes and images filtered past him.

_Another surgery?_

The shape would always talk to him— surprisingly earnest given that Red gave no indication that he was even listening. They would then take him to another room, and then, another slightly bigger shape would talk.

When he woke up next, he would find himself back in the first room. Or so he assumed. After all, all the rooms had white ceilings.

_How silly_, he thought deliriously. _How will people be able to tell one room from another?_

Once again, the throbbing pain began to assault his head. Why was this happening to him? He didn't deserve this! He was actually beginning to consider the pros of resisting sleep this time. Hesitantly, he closed his eyes...

…

...

_ **Blood spread all over the grass, covering it like canvas, the translucent crimson droplets falling like rain. The grotesque, marred face of Skarmory tore open, revealing the alien, monstrosity that twisted and turned— light crimson, trusting eyes fell upon him—** _

"_**Will you kill me too?"**_

Red screamed. It seemed that not even losing his consciousness would give him salvation. The nightmares twisted as they filtered in and out of his mind, playing with his emotions, his dreams, his _fears_.

At this point, death might be a relief from this endless cycle of nightmares. Or maybe he was _actually dead, _and this was just some kind of past-life karmic joke cast upon him by those he had failed? Come to think of it, it was almost ironic that he would end up back in a hospital bed.

_I'll definitely go insane if this continues._

He tried to move his body, and felt his skin flare upon contact with… well, whatever was touching it. At the very least, he could move the fingers of his... left hand? or was that right one. It was hard to be sure. His mind was a cesspool of contradictory thought-processes and the constant battering from his nightmares didn't help either.

He let out a sigh, even as his eyelids began to close once more.

…

…

...

_ **Mawile's jaw tore open from the inside, with Scyther's blade came out, blood-stained in its—** _

He screamed again, the image being far more vivid than before. Something was different though. He could _hear_ his scream. His heart palpitated dangerously as he slowly opened his eyes. The ceiling looked the same, but then again, it always did.

The oxygen mask, however, was conspicuous by its absence.

"Hello, Red." An extremely familiar, masculine voice spoke up. Curious, Red turned his face to his right. His neck hurt, but he was past caring at this point. "So nice of you to join us.

Professor Oak was leaning across his bedside. Right beside him, sat Delia— her eyes puffed up and red.

..._Crying? But she never..._

"Was it too much to ask for you to go through _one_ forest without it going up in flames?" Delia croaked.

Red just stared. This was hardly the first time his mother had been angry with him or yelled at him. But crying? Not even the incident back at Pallet had made her cry. In front of him at least.

"I…" He opened his mouth to speak. For once, his quick wit failed to generate an automatic response.

* * *

"Eight days? It's been eight days?"

Even to Red's exhausted mind, it sounded ridiculous. Then again, considering how many bouts of relapses and nightmares had assaulted him, it might well have been. Add that to his mother's… overly-aggressive concern and it was starting to crawl into uncharted territory. The fact that his mind still tormented itself about the fate of Mawile and the rest didn't help.

The elder man chuckled softly. "Well, eight days and… thirteen hours, if we're being specific. I've been here on an off and on basis. Delia has been here ever since.. we got the news."

_She has…? But… what about work?_

This was confusing. He was used to his mother's absences. Her constant presence, along with her badgering over him healing above everything else had felt a little odd. Conspicuous even.

_Is this going to be a repeated thing from now on? What's wrong with her anyway? Doesn't look like she's been sleeping properly._

"Are you— are you okay, son?" Delia stammered, her words getting tangled as she tried very hard to not break down into sobs. "I thought I had lost you. I don't know what I'd have done if something—"

"Don't worry Mom," Red spoke, the steadiness in his voice surprising even himself. "I'm… still here."

"My little boy's all grown up," Delia tried to laugh softly, her eyes brimming with tears.

"I'm sorry... Mom, for all the trouble," Red answered. His head was slightly spinning even now, making it slightly difficult to concentrate. "You really didn't need to put off your work for—"

"Just— Just stop right there. Please.," Delia chastised him softly. "Now tell me, are you still in pain? Do you want to rest for a bit? Get some sleep?"

_Sleep? If only…_

"Nah… just a little... headache. Why does my body feel so heavy? And my legs… I can't feel them at all." Red tried to look around and noticed the apparatuses connected to his form. "What's with those? Am I… am I going to be okay? And Mawile? Is she okay? What about the others? Are they—?"

Oak raised a finger. "Yes, you're going to be okay, and no, nothing's wrong with your team. They are perfectly fine and are currently on the hospital grounds. The only person you need to worry about is yourself."

"But—"

"Trust me." The old man replied, his voice soft but stern. Somehow, Red couldn't find in himself to refute him. "Delia, we should leave. The doctor's—"

"I'm sure they can allow us a little more time." It looked like leaving Red's bedside was the last thing she wanted. "He has just woken up, and if he doesn't feel like sleeping, someone has to be here to keep him company."

"Delia," Oak requested, his voice a little firm this time, "You know the doctors only allowed us an hour after all of the—"

"But what if he needs something?" The woman countered fiercely. "This isn't Pallet town, professor. What if he needs something attended, or is in pain, or has another—"

"Delia!" Oak replied in an imperious tone.

"Mom," Red pleaded, a little befuddled from the strange back-and-forth conversation and his impending headache, "it's okay. I can just rest for a while."

Delia gazed at his face with a searching look. Even after a thorough search, she seemed not to find what she wanted. "If you're…"

"I'm sure," Red muttered, staring straight at her, his eyes meeting her gaze. "I'll be fine." He turned towards the man he trusted above everything else. "My team's okay, right?"

Oak looked at him with something akin to sympathy before his face straightened. "They are. Get some rest for now. It's quite late. I'll see if I can bring Mawile with me tomorrow."

"What about the rest of my team?"

Oak faltered momentarily. "Well, I doubt everyone will be allowed but I'll see what I can do. Even so, one at a time will probably be the most I can manage. Hospital rules, I'm afraid."

Red casually watched the door close as Oak left, before letting out a pronounced sigh, chortling mirthlessly, as he allowed himself to sag into the bed.

"Well, I guess I didn't die after all. Fancy that."

* * *

The moment the door closed, Oak discarded the genial smile from his lips, replacing it with the well-practiced expression he had crafted during his time as the reigning Champion. Frankly, it was surprising how easily the expression formed on his lips. Something he hadn't had to use for years but even so, the muscle was there, ready to contort at the slightest exertion.

"Professor—"

"Not now Delia," the man spoke with authority. It almost sounded like a reprimand, but Delia knew better. She nodded and quickly stepped out of the way, leaving the professor to walk out like a man possessed. Oak had barely crossed the corridor before the platoon-leader of a Ranger squad noticed his presence and saluted in earnest.

"At ease," Samuel gave them a brief nod. "My ward is to rest for the time being. I'd like to be kept in the loop when he's put through the interrogation."

The ranger, a brown, curly-haired man in his early twenties, nodded swiftly in response. "Of course. Considering Mr. Ketchum's state, we can extend his medical delay up until he is physically fit to answer our questions."

"It's fine," Oak waved, "The doctors have assured me that he'll be fine in a day or two. But I must ask, surely the other girl had been interrogated?"

The ranger nodded. "Already done, yesterday in fact."

"Was she heavily injured as well?"

"Not so much injured as traumatized." The ranger paused, "We had to... sedate her."

"I see," Oak frowned. "Well, as long as you don't cause Red any further... mental trauma, I have no problems with the interrogation."

The ranger looked up in surprise. "I must admit, this is kind of new. High-profile cases tend to _not _to go this smoothly. You are being awfully cooperative, considering it is your ward we are dealing with."

'My concern for my ward and my duties to Kanto are two completely different things. That being said, I'd rather not have too much public interest fall onto this issue."

The head-ranger caught Oak's eye. "Do you mean sir," he questioned, suppressing his wariness, "that you want this entire interrogation to be… hushed up?"

Even the other two rangers were looking at Oak with a surprised glance. While it was not very surprising to see the wealthy play their cards to manipulate the bureaucracy for their benefit, Samuel Oak was practically famous for his lack of political motivations. For him to actually interfere in such matters...

"Not exactly," Oak spoke up before the men could delve deeper into their personal theories. "What I want here is to solve the entire issue without any major involvement of the press. I'd like to avoid the spotlight if possible. If there is a felony, then let the transgressor be punished. If it was an accident, then let appropriate measures be taken. I won't stand in the way of justice."

The head ranger smiled. "Of course." He turned towards his squad-members. "I'll take care of it. You may leave."

Promptly, the two squad members saluted and left.

"That said," Oak went on, "I'd appreciate it if you'd give me a rundown of the transpired events. From what I understand, my ward was found with a certain Miss Waterflower at the site?"

The ranger nodded. "From Misty Waterflower's statement, she had contracted Red Ketchum to aid her in the capture of… some bugs for a school project. The amount was agreed to be eight thousand."

"Standard trainer agreements, I assume? Witnesses?" Oak inquired.

"None whatsoever. It was a vocal agreement at best. If he doesn't admit to it, it's not even legally valid."

Oak frowned. He had not expected Red to enter into contractual agreements with anyone. Usually, only trainers past the mid-intermediate stage were offered such deals. That said, he didn't think the boy was the kind to lie about his own trainer status— not that it'd stand with verification.

Still, why anyone would offer a contract to a rookie was beyond him.

He looked up. "I am assuming that the contract has more relevance to the interrogation?"

The ranger looked a little shifty. "It's just that… Gym Leader Michael Waterflower was _most insistent _upon transferring the amount to Mr. Ketchum's account, as payment for an official contract."

Oak arched an eyebrow. Michael Waterflower was known for many things. Magnanimity was not one of them. "Then?"

"He left for Cerulean with his daughter via teleportation."

"That quickly?"

"Mr. Waterflower was… not very cooperative towards the interrogation. Gym Leader Brock was away at Indigo Plateau, and you weren't in Pewter as well. Mr. Waterflower did seem to be in a hurry—"

"Even though this was a ranger squad investigating the issue?"

"...he was very much in a hurry."

"..."

"..."

"This is going to be one of those days, isn't it?"

"Seems so," the ranger replied with a mirthless grin.

The professor sighed. Michael Waterflower was known to be a family man through and through. But he hadn't known the man to be this rash. A little bit on the arrogant side, but not irrational, and certainly not a fool.

"His daughter explicitly stated that she was the one that offered Red the job?"

"Yes, sir."

Oak frowned. What kind of idiot offered a no-badge rookie a job like that? Between the sheer size of the forest and the large number of possible predators lying within, the idea of young, inexperienced teens walking through it was practically asking for trouble. That was why the league had spent an inordinate amount of time creating well-defined, rookie friendly paths throughout the Viridian Forest. Even so, there was a Ranger squad posted at all times on forest duty. Just in case.

"I can forward a copy of the interrogation report to you if you wish."

The older man shook his head. "That is a non-issue, unless my ward is accused of something… bad. A brief summary would do."

The ranger nodded. "They were there for no less than three weeks."

Three weeks. _Of course! _Three weeks in the heart of a bug-infested forest was _such _a great idea.

Oak schooled his expression. "Any concerns?"

"Besides several encounters with wild beedrill, and one… narrowly-avoided pinsir attack, nothing spectacular." The ranger drew a sliver of amusement from the older man's pallid expression. "You should be proud to know that your ward did a good job in evading the pinsir herd."

Oak sighed. He really should have looked at the interrogation report. Then again, it would give him an extra headache. Maybe he should just quit it all and leave for a sabbatical? Sinnoh was good this time of year.

"And a scyther." the ranger continued, as if oblivious to Oak's rising annoyance."From what I understood, it was your ward that took down the scyther as well. With bug-sprays no less."

"Of all the stupid and ridiculous—" Oak stopped himself midway, before taking a deep breath in an attempt to control his emotions. "Forgive me, the past few days have been rather… exhausting. Please go on."

"I understand, sir," The ranger replied apologetically, "It must be tiring, what with the recent events in Pallet."

Oak winced at that, but didn't say anything. Obviously the ranger had heard about that. It was the biggest tabloid material for the past week.

_ **THE SCREAMS OF PALLET—MASSES CAUGHT IN NEGATIVE ENTHRALLMENT. A DERANGED PSYCHIC OUT OF CONTROL?** _

Then again, a town full of people clutching their heads with agony, while reliving their worst memories for over thirty seconds would obviously make it to the paper. He supposed his own name and association with Pallet Town didn't help matters. And just when he had been able to contain the… problem, a second tragedy had struck.

"_This is the Pewter General Hospital. We have a trainer called Red Ketchum admitted here. Heavily injured and has been sent to the ICU. Our servers list you as his sponsor so—"_

That was eight days ago.

"When we arrived at the site, we found Miss Waterflower unconscious and bleeding. She was close to a dead feraligatr, alongside a somewhat-disoriented starmie. My team had to subdue it before we managed to collect the girl."

"And Red?"

"He was found several hundred meters away from the girl. His situation was… rather extreme. We half-expected the boy to be dead, what with—"

Oak raised a hand, looking down, "Spare me of the details. Did the girl mention why she was found like that?"

"Miss Waterflower… was injured while fighting a criminal."

Oak did a double-take. "Criminal?"

The ranger nodded. "From her statement, both her and Mr. Ketchum were attacked by Team Rocket. So far we have established charges on illegal pokémon experimentation and trafficking, charges on murder of pokémon using weapons, and at least one attempt-to-murder charge upon the individual she named."

"Which is?"

"Travers. His full name is Travers Brooks. Son of Gregory Brooks, the former Gym Leader of Cerulean City. He was later arrested for poaching pokémon in Shoal Cave, Hoenn. Evaded prison and declared missing by Hoenn Police force. The official record on the man says he's dead."

"So a dead man, found working for Team Rocket and attacks the daughter of newer Gym Leader?" Oak asked, narrowing his eyes and rubbing the top of his nose. "How dramatic."

"Actually, there were two. While the one she fought was indeed Travers Brooks, he had another accomplice. A man she called Meyers. He was found close to Misty Waterflower, with an arm missing. The post-mortem indicates that he died from blood loss."

"Any further details?"

"I have two squads currently in the forest. I'll inform you if we get any leads into Team Rocket."

"You think there might be… a base somewhere inside the forest?" Oak leaned forward.

"We have enough reason to believe that," came the swift reply.

Interesting. Go on."

"We have no official record on him. It's possible he was from another region. We have yet to send for a query, but considering the people involved, we have put that on hold until the interrogations finish."

"I'm glad that the matter is in safe hands then," Oak replied.

"It's my job."

"And the evidence is verified correct? Standard psychic confirmation?"

"..."

"What?"

The ranger worded his next sentence carefully. "Mr. Waterflower insisted that his daughter be taken for treatment first. We're currently operating on the data we got from her… brief interrogation."

"She wasn't offered treatment?" Oak raised an eyebrow. It was standard procedure for the wounded— innocent and accused alike —to be sent for emergency healing before the interrogation began. "I thought that the hospital had a wing for that."

"_Private _medical treatment." The man corrected.

"Ah," Oak exclaimed softly. "Make sure to check for psychic manipulations then."

"Are you possibly suggesting—?"

"I'm merely stating that it is exceedingly natural for a victim to suffer trauma after such an episode, and to choose psychic healing as an option to cope with stress. It is quite natural that such psychic treatment might inadvertently... affect her personal memories. As such…"

"Understood sir."

"Am I to assume that the criminal in question was arrested? I'd like a copy of—"

"Travers Brooks had been found at the other site, several feet away from Mr. Ketchum. Dead."

"...Dead?"

"He had a deep, penetrating wound from the chest that cut through his heart. The weapon— some kind of blade —nearly tore him in two, bisecting him through the shoulder."

Oak felt something stir from deep within him. Mutilation and death wasn't something new to him. Finding dead bodies of trainers was quite a bit more commonplace back in his time. But after all those years of throwing that life away, it was like revisiting an old wound, a half-forgotten nightmare of a sort.

"Forensics revealed bug cells inside the man's body, providing evidence that the man was killed by the scyther."

Oak grimaced, massaging the tip of his nose. "I assume the scyther will be put up for rehabilitation?"

"That… was to be the case," The ranger replied carefully. "It is just that, the scyther is registered to the young Mr. Ketchum."

_Oh lord. _Oak closed his eyes. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing "This means that Section 142 C Penal Code applies—"

"It would, sir, but the presence of a wanted and _dead_ criminal has… changed things. I'm not exactly sure how much of that can be explained as self-defense, so Mr. Ketchum's statement is vital."

"You'll have it at the earliest," Oak promised.

"We appreciate your aid, sir. Shall we leave the rest for tomorrow?"

"No, I might as well just hear the end of it. Perhaps you—I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Tyson sir," the ranger replied, "Tyson Wells."

"Right, Tyson, please continue."

"We found several dead pokémon on the site, as well as several highly injured ones. From Mr. Ketchum's pokédex, it seems like all but two of the surviving pokémon were registered to him." Tyson paused momentarily. "A mawile, a skarmory, the scyther, and a… shellder."

"And the others?"

"A… divergent growlithe. We thought it was a Shiny, but the League database showed otherwise. It had a shock-collar on its neck, and was significantly injured. That said, its regeneration was phenomenal. It recovered from all injuries within the first day of treatment."

"... I presume that this is where the charges of illegal experimentation and cruelty come in?"

"Precisely," Tyson nodded.

"Petty crime is one thing, but an experimental hybrid? Just how low can one get?" Oak muttered under his breath.

"Actually, from Miss Waterflower's statement, it was herself and Mr. Ketchum that found the growlithe in question. She spoke about your ward's decision to help it get rid of the shock-collar from the Pewter City Pokémon Center."

Oak couldn't help but feel a surge of pride for Red at that.

"The criminal, Travers, then demanded the return of the growlithe, claiming it belonged to them. Mr. Ketchum resisted, questioning its shock collar which led to—"

"More trouble than it was worth," Oak finished for him. "I thought Red had better sense than to fight a bunch of criminals. It's the ponyta incident all over again."

"Based on his actions alone, he has the potential to be a Ranger." Tyson offered.

Oak grimaced. "I was hoping he'd take after me instead."

"You want him to dismantle two criminal-organizations?" Tyson whistled lowly, "In that case, don't let me stop you, _Professor_."

Oak groaned. "I was talking about being a researcher."

Of course," The ranger agreed. "In other news, Mr. Waterflower has placed a negative citation on Mr. Ketchum's official record, signed under his authority as the Cerulean City Gym Leader, citing the Trainer's..." Tyson winced, "—utter lack of regard for his charge's safety and negligence in his duty by placing her in direct danger."

"Lack of regard?" Oak was flabbergasted.

"I know," Tyson groaned. The man seemed to remember his talk with the Cerulean gym leader, and from his expression, it must have been unsavory. "He seemed to think that as a trainer, Mr. Ketchum should have shown more self-preservation and considered the life of his companion and contractor, rather than face criminals in what was clearly a suicidal attempt to save a '_common growlithe." _Tyson paused, wincing at the withering glare on the former Champion's face.

"And the girl should have known better than to hire a rookie-level trainer for the job," Oak lashed out. "Surely the daughter of a reputed gym leader would have that much common sense?"

Tyson looked conflicted. "I did inform him that there were no standard contracts involved."

Oak closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, he spoke in a calmer, softer tone. "And what are the chances that Mr. Waterflower would take your advice?"

"Not very high."

A ghost of a smile formed on Oak's lips. "That's fine by me. If Michael Waterflower wants to play hardball, I'll be happy to return the favor. You said he left a review regarding my ward's… lack of professionalism over his daughter's safety, correct?"

Tyson nodded.

"Remind me, son," Oak went on, "What is the minimum price for hiring a security escort?"

Tyson widened his eyes as if realizing where this was going. "Around— around five hundred an hour, sir. But only trainers mid-intermediate or higher can opt to be one."

"Yes, we'll return to that little detail later," Oak opened his eyes, brushing Tyson's concerns off, "my ward was there with Miss Waterflower for… three weeks. If my math is correct, and it always is, then the amount is two hundred and fifty-two thousand dollars. Considering that Mr. Waterflower has claimed a security issue, I'd like to see him send the remaining amount first. Ranger Tyson, could you perchance send an official redressal letter to Mr. Waterflower, signed by my ward, _demanding _the minimum payment of two hundred and fifty-two thousand dollars. In return, Red will freely accept the negative mark on his profile. After all," Oak was smiling now, "—lack of professionalism cannot be overlooked, regardless of who it might be."

Tyson was trying very hard to keep the shit-eating grin from his face. "That can be easily arranged, sir, but a negative mark this early is not exactly beneficial to Mr. Ketchum's profile, especially if he wants to become a freelancer in the future."

"Yes," The former Champion almost seemed to be at peace. A neutral observer would have described it as _serene._

But the truth was quite different, and from Tyson's expression, he knew it too. This was the false calm before the arrival of a particularly vicious thunderstorm.

"Now that the matter of payment is done away with," Oak replied, the smile still floating on his face, "we need to consider the charges on Miss Waterflower for conning a rookie trainer into a job that is _laughably _higher than his pay grade. You said that the girl admitted that it was _she _who demanded Red's services, and not Red, who applied for it, correct?"

"Correct."

"Ranger Tyson," Oak drew a deep breath and stood tall, "I'd like to file an official complaint against one Misty Waterflower, daughter of Michael Waterflower, on charges of misrepresentation of the nature of aid needed, charges on usage of non-standard contractual agreements, and putting my ward in lethal danger. I'm sure a copy of Red's medical condition can be easily fetched from the hospital records."

"That can be arranged." Tyson's eyes betrayed his outer composure.

"Of course, considering that my ward is a rookie-level trainer, there are additional charges on Mr. Waterflower for trying to inflict damage on a trainer's future. I wonder what this speaks about the current Champion's regime if his _gym-leaders _are setting precedence for tarnishing a prospective freelancer's reputation to feed their personal ego."

Tyson chuckled openly at that.

"If Mr. Waterflower is willing to settle the argument out of court… please redirect the mail to my office. I'll make sure to have my assistant accommodate him."

"Right away, sir." The ranger stood tall and saluted.

Oak sighed. The pettiness of some individuals never ceased to amaze him. "I only hope that this matter stays within these boundaries. There's blood in the water, and sooner or later, the vultures will start circling. I'd rather not have to get involved in the squabble and power plays of gym leaders. I can only hope that the Pewter City Gym leader won't side with him out of a sense of… professional courtesy."

"Now, why would I do that?"

Oak and Tyson whirled around to face the incomer. There, standing at the doorway, was the Pewter City Gym Leader. The man was heavily-built, easily over six feet tall in height, with a square-jawed face, and a darkish complexion. The man casually allowed himself in and gave Oak a curious stare.

Oak chortled mirthlessly. "Brock Pebblemann, I believe?"

"We haven't met before, but I'm a fan." Brock nodded respectfully. "My younger brother Forrest wants to apply for an apprenticeship under you, especially for the Mt. Hideaway project."

Oak's eyes widened. "A budding archaeologist?"

"Yes," Brock shook his shoulders. "Forrest has always been an overachiever. He's currently apprenticing with Devon Corp in Mt. Moon, but he should be finishing his contract by the next five months or so."

"Then why bother with an apprenticeship? He should qualify for a full-time job."

"His work has mostly been around fossils, and he's really into… ruin exploration.."

"Ah, I see," Oak mused, "when he's done, ask him to come and see me."

"Thank you." Brock nodded gratefully, "My brother will be excited to hear that."

Tyson coughed.

"Right," Brock addressed the ranger, "Is everything under control? I heard about the forest fire, but I thought it was some minor skirmish at best." He passed a knowing gaze at Oak, "Clearly that is not the case."

"Clearly," Oak answered in an unhappy voice.

"I suppose I should just start from the beginning," Tyson mumbled.

"That will be appreciated," Brock added.

* * *

**The next day...**

"When you mentioned meeting me later, I didn't expect... well, this."

Oak chuckled at the boy's reply. The man had shown up with Ranger Tyson to the hospital ward given to his student. "Part of the legal process I'm afraid. This is Ranger Tyson Wells, Head of the Rescue Squad situated in Pewter. His team was the one that saved you. He has some questions for you."

That attracted Red's attention. The man Tyson, seemed fairly young, around his early twenties if he had to guess.

"I… thank you, Ranger Tyson."

"It was our job," Tyson waved away. "Besides, it would speak ill of our competence if some thug could get away with killing people and destroying—"

_ **The knife speared into the Ariados, slipping through its chin bones, right through the face. Blood spurted out like a never-ending—** _

"—public property," The man finished. He glanced at the sudden paling of Red's features and abruptly paused. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Ye—I'm—I mean, I'm alright. Sorry," Red croaked, slowly edging towards the glass of water next to his bed. With the apparatuses removed from his body, he was feeling much lighter. The headaches were still annoying, but the intensity was less than earlier. That or he had built up endurance against them.

Neither seemed like a happy prospect.

_At least I can move my arms and legs. That's four more limbs than I thought I'd move again._

Oak pushed himself off the chair and lifted the glass. "Wait, let me help," he offered, slowly holding the glass towards the boy. Red held it with his bandaged hands and took a sip.

"Sorry," Red offered, "the—the headaches come and go at the most inopportune—"

"It's alright," Tyson offered, passing a wary glance at Oak. "Well then, Mr. Ketchum. I was told that you were fit enough to go through the investigation. Professor if you want—"

"No, No it's okay," Red faltered, "please go on. You saved my life after all. The least I can do is answer some questions."

"In any case," Tyson took hold of the conversation. "We do need your cooperation. This may be hard for you, but I'm going to need you to recount your experiences in the forest. We'd like a detailed statement over what happened to you, and one Misty Waterflower, how you ended up where you were, and lastly, what caused the fire. "

"Misty…. She's alive? Is she okay?" Red interrupted with a question. To think that she was alive sent a jolt of elation through his heart. He had given up on her survival after seeing Travers and—

"Miss Waterflower suffered a minor concussion on her head, as well as severe mental trauma. Physically though, she's fine. She has given us her version of the events. However, she had no memory of the fire."

"She's here?" He asked weakly, his headache returning with a vengeance.

Tyson shook his head. "Her father has departed for Cerulean City for her treatment." The ranger replied in a strained voice. Clearly he wasn't used to continuous interruptions when he was asking the questions.

"Red," Oak advised, correctly reading the ranger's expression, "I think you should focus on answering the questions first."

"Uhhh… sorry," Red apologized, "I was just… please go on. I'll do my best to answer."

"Much appreciated," The ranger replied stiffly. "Did you offer to catch bugs for Miss Waterflower before your onset into the forest?"

Red frowned, wondering why such a question would take priority over some of the more relevant points. That being said, he determined it was safer to simply go through whatever the man wanted. Ranger Tyson didn't seem like the chatty type.

"She did. I accepted."

"What were the terms?"

"I'd help her catch four particular bugs, and in return, she'd pay me eight thousand pokédollars. She paid me three thousand in advance, and the rest would be given on completion."

"And did you? Finish the job?" Surprisingly, it was Oak that asked the question.

Red shook his head. "Barely. I got just two. Everything went downhill from there." He glanced at Tyson, "why is that important?"

"Mr. Waterflower forwarded a sum of eight thousand to your account yesterday. The transaction has been acknowledged by your pokédex."

"Uhm… that's nice of him, but I'll send the extras back when I get my Dex back, I suppose." Red muttered, more to himself than to the ranger. "But once again—"

"We were just reconfirming the situation," Oak intervened, "Tyson if you would?"

Tyson nodded. "Sure. Miss Waterflower has given us information consisting of two men, identified as Meyers, and Travers Brooks. Her statement mentions that Meyers died in front of her own eyes. It also implicates a certain growlithe and _yourself _for his injuries—" The man glanced at Red's wide-eyes— "She has detailed her struggle with Brooks up until she passed out after receiving a head injury. We need you to fill up the rest of the picture. Be advised that this is an official interrogation and anything you do or say can be held against you in criminal court. You have the right to remain silent during a question but the interpretation will be considered _appropriately."_

Red blinked.

Then blinked again.

He slowly twisted his neck towards Oak, "Uhm…. old man, am I in trouble?"

"That depends," Oak gave him a stern gaze. "Have you done anything wrong?"

"I…. I only acted in self-defense."

Oak paused for a moment, as if considering his words. "Then simply speak the truth. Your memories might be verified via a League-sanctioned psychic if they find any discrepancies in the investigation. Simply be honest and allow me to handle the rest."

Red swallowed. "...Right."

"What happened when Meyers followed you into the forest?"

Red looked away towards the wall, his eyes distant. "I… Meyers wanted the growlithe, and told us that it belonged to them. I didn't want them to capture it again."

"Why?"

Red looked at the ranger, right in the eye. "The growlithe had a shock collar on it. Are you trying to tell me that I should have given it to them so that they could torture it more?"

"Miss Waterflower has mentioned about how you talked about its _shiny-ness, _and its relevance as an unusual pokémon," Tyson remarked casually. "She has also stated that you brought that up when they demanded you let it go."

"And what of it?" Red shot back, his eyes glaring daggers at the man for his obvious insinuation.

"Did you choose to give priority to the capture of an uncommon pokémon, over the safety of your and your companion's life?"

Red stayed silent at that.

"Red?" Oak coaxed.

Red grunted, unhappy at the implications of the question, "I only brought up the 'shiny' issue to stall for time, hoping the dog would get the idea and run away. It was pretty useless though. I ended up flat out telling it to run." He looked up angrily, "I promised that I'd save it, and no, I had no clue that they'd be obsessed enough with the growlithe that they'd try and _kill _us for it."

After what seemed like an eternity, Tyson's harsh countenance shifted into a smile. "Well, that confirms it, professor."

"Yes," Oak sighed in elation, "I suppose it does. Will it be enough?" He asked the ranger.

"It should, to counter Mr. Waterflower's review, should he go ahead with his…"

Oak waved. "Go on."

A nod was the only response he got.

"What happened after you ran into the forest?"

"The reality of the situation exploded on me," Red admitted, his voice lowered. "We, that is, Mawile and I, were attacked by a… I think it was called zangoose?"

"We did not find a zangoose at either site."Tyson refuted immediately.

"It didn't happen next to the tent," Red fought back, "Next thing you're gonna say is that Meyers didn't lose an arm too, since it wasn't found on the site either." It didn't matter that this was a _ranger _he was giving the stink eye. The line of questioning was beginning to feel invasive, and more importantly, the disregard for what he had been through was beginning to get on his nerves.

"Red?" Oak warned imperiously.

The teen scoffed before shifting into a monotone. "There was a dead machoke as well. One that Meyers had sent to get the growlithe. We found it in pieces when we were trying to find our way out in the darkness."

"Go on," Tyson prompted calmly.

"We…." Red closed his eyes before opening them just as quickly as the horrific sight of the mutilated machoke flashed in front of his eyes, "heard a scream…. Meyers screaming, I think, and we began to run."

"To save him?" Tyson asked with an arched eyebrow.

"To save ourselves. Did you expect me to try and save the person attacking me and those I care for? What kind of idiot do you—?"

"Red—"

"—I ran hoping that I'd find growlithe and then we'd escape to the tent. The forest is a rather dangerous place." The monotone had returned.

Oak sighed. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

**In a different building inside Pewter General Hospital**

Delia strode through the near-empty corridors almost absent-mindedly. Things had been going south ever since her baby boy had left Pallet. Yes, Red was fourteen, but if she was to be honest, she had _never _really seen her boy grow up. She had been content for him to be at home be healthy and to be frank, given everything he needed and then some. He had wanted Mia as a pet, and she had given it to him without a thought. Sure he had put it as '_my friend Mia', _but it had made no difference in her mind at the time.

And yet, she had ignored the most fundamental thing about being a parent.

_I did not give him time. My little boy grew up faster all by himself because of it._

…

_No. He grew up faster despite it. Mia and Red—two babies in my care, and I messed up with both of them. Guess I wasn't mother material after all._

Delia suppressed the sudden shudder that sent a jolt down her spine. It had been eight days since the event, but she could still remember it vividly.

_ **The blackness engulfed her mind, thinning the lines between reality and illusion. She opened her eyes, only to find the world disappear. All there existed, was darkness, and a dreary winter creeping up her mind like frost, freezing and burning her very soul…** _

_ **An undefinable sorrow gripped her, crushing any and all brightness from her mind. Thoughts that she had buried in the depths of her heart, thoughts that made her stay awake night after night, thoughts she tried to ignore by immersing herself into her work—all of them forced their way past the bottleneck that was her will, destroying it.** _

_ **Obliterating it.** _

_ **And then the screams began.** _

_ **It was almost like rushing through her entire life in a nutshell, experiencing all those memories, those thoughts, those sick twisted experiences she'd not wish on her enemies. Delia was stuck, tears trickling down her cheek, as one nightmare after another made a constant assault on her mind. How she had disappointed her father—how she had lost those she considered her own—how she had been carried away in infatuation and lust over that man—the man she had resented every single day in her life and yet never thought about—the manner in which she had thrown up barriers between herself and her son—how Red had suffered—** _

Delia's head jerked, throwing her out of that twisted, wretched, hideous experience. Her face full of sweat, she pressed against a wall, trying to catch her breath. Ever since that day, her traitorous mind would keep going back to that day, that experience. Kaz had helped a lot but it still relapsed on occasion.

This served to reinforce just how dangerous mental attacks were.

She let out a sigh of frustration and looked around for her destination. Spotting the nameplate on the half-opened door, Delia let herself in.

"Has there been any developments, doctor?"

"Miss Ketchum," the man looked up in surprise, "we were just about to send a message through the reception unit. Though I must say I'm surprised to see you here. Is your son better now?"

"He's healing," Delia pursed her lips." Thank you for asking. But I'm here to ask you about Mia."

The medic stood up from his chair. "Your kirlia has been getting better. She's still unconscious, but the seizures have stopped. The frequency levels of her psionic spasms have been getting down too. It's not completely safe yet, but the worst has passed."

Delia felt a burst of elation in her chest. It seemed her hypothesis was correct. Getting her in close proximity to Red had indeed produced a positive reaction in Mia. It had been less than a day since Red had fully woken up and already Mia was already showing signs of returning to normalcy.

"Something tells me you expected this to happen, Miss Ketchum."

"I… had a few conjectures."

"Like?"

"I… really can't say. It's against my employer's policy to talk about the details of my work." Delia gave him a half-smile. "Protocols, you know?"

The medic looked slightly amused at that. "Either way, it seems that our services were unnecessary after all. Your kirlia managed to bring herself back under control."

_Or proximity to Red made her do so, _Delia mused.

"I'm still thankful for your aid. How long do you think she will be unconscious?"

The medic pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Our records show a steady rise in her reserves. We can attribute at least some of it to the Chansey egg serum."

Delia frowned. It was an established fact that Chansey eggs were highly nutritious, often better than chemically-prepared food supplements. They also caused a rise in endorphins and DZ, a dopamine-analog found in pokémon. Back in Pallet Town, the serum had been able to slow down Mia's _motions, _but just barely. But here…

"I suppose you are right, Doctor Leff," Delia spoke up after a moment. "Can I… Can I meet her?"

"You can, but I'd advise you to postpone it till her levels get normal."

"Okay. I'll do that then." Delia turned to walk out.

"Miss Ketchum."

She stopped, before turning back slightly.

"...yes?"

"I did happen to check your credentials, and I know you are a researcher on psychic-types. I also that this kirlia is one that caused a major psionic disturbance in Pallet Town."

Delia stilled.

"I'd be grateful if you exercised a little more rationality next time. You brought in a Level 4 security hazard into Pewter City without going through the proper channels. I do not know why that creature calmed down here, but were you not associated with… certain people, you'd have been reported to the Ranger Squad. "

"... I understand." Delia muttered, before leaving the room.

"You're most welcome." Doctor Leff replied to the now empty room, before allowing his eyes to move back to the newspaper.

* * *

"While Miss Waterflower's testimony is in line with your statement, I find it rather difficult to believe that someone could go on that long without an arm," Tyson commented impassively.

Oak lifted a finger, stopping the scathing retort that was likely about to be spat out by his ward. He recognized that look well enough. "I understand your concerns, but you probably haven't dealt with Team Rocket before."

"What are you talking about?" The ranger looked quite confused.

"We've dealt with cases like this before. It's very hard to get information on Team Rocket, but we managed to capture a few grunts, several years ago. They were... interrogated and from what we learned, all of them go through a process called _the initiation_."

Tyson looked surprised. "The initiation?"

"A process that every grunt goes through when he becomes an official member of Team Rocket. It makes them more… durable and from what we have seen, faster reflexes as well. "

"So what exactly happens in this initiation thing?"

"We don't know," Oak admitted.

"You don't know?" Tyson asked incredulously."How can you not know? Why wouldn't you ask such a basic question?"

"It wasn't for lack of trying, "Oak sighed. "When our interrogation didn't turn up results, we used a powerful psychic to go through their memories. Unfortunately, the memories of the whole process were… gone."

"Gone?"

"Wiped away completely. We decided to bring in even more powerful psychics to try and reconstruct the memory if possible…"

"And?" Tyson pressed.

"And nothing," Oak sighed. When we came back to continue the interrogation they were both dead. A heart attack, of cause unknown."

"Obviously a coincidence," Tyson said dryly.

"Yes, well, anyway, the point is, both in and out of the field, _do not judge Team Rocket by human standards._"

"..."

"The other man, Travers," Red interjected."He tried to inject something into the other guy. Seemed to think it would save him."

Oak nodded thoughtfully. Red had been so silent that he had forgotten that he was in the room.

"Team Rocket does tend to use drugs quite viciously"

"Drugs?" Tyson asked intensely.

"Mmmm." Oak nodded. "Some of them were even developed by us. For example, several years ago, they used A-22, a drug created to mitigate sensory overload by neutralizing pain receptors, and increase blood coagulation at the site of injury, specifically created for the Chiron Brigade."

"The…" Tyson nearly choked at that.

"What's the Chayron—?" Red spoke up, curious.

Oak paused for a moment. "It's a team that works alongside the Champion to help mitigate threats above Level 8."

"Which are?"

"Classified," Tyson interrupted with a half-glare, obviously unhappy that the former Champion had been so willing to talk about intelligence info and bureaucratic know-how to an apparent rookie.

Oak winced at that. Clearly, he was losing his touch. That, or he was simply used to explaining things to his student. Either way, he was in the wrong. "I suppose my age is finally getting to me." He turned to Red, "I'd advise you not to mention that little tidbit to others."

"...sure." The teen replied.

"Sir," Tyson addressed the older man, "would you be willing to vouch for the authenticity of this miraculous drug? A single signature should do."

"I cannot claim that the drug used by the criminal to be the same as the one I mentioned. But such technology did indeed exist in the past. And we have seen Team Rocket use things that are very similar." Oak sighed, "We cleaned out the entire department after the leak. Half of our security protocols started because of them. Despite our efforts, we still find traces of Team deep in our system." He momentarily remembered the fake doctor Pym, who had deceived Ritchie Kent and recruited him within Team Rocket. The Doctor Pym that didn't exist.

_Just how deep does it go? First Pallet and now Viridian. Too much is happening to close to each other… something doesn't add up._

"That should do." Tyson agreed,before turning back to Red "What happened after you escaped with the growlithe?"

Red closed his eyes. "I was able to reach the tent.. Travers was sitting on the ground, and Misty was standing a little further away."

"Standing. Not fighting."

Red shook his head. "No. Travers… he wasn't trying to kill us. Or well, at least not then. I think he was waiting for his partner to return with the growlithe. I told him what happened to his partner, and he forced us to stay there until he could verify Meyers's condition."

"Miss Waterflower described a form of webbing used by the Ariados."

"Webbing," Red snorted. " He called them Toxic Threads."

"Did you try to break out?"

"The ariados was holding us hostage," Red looked at the man incredulously, " I'm very fond of living. Thank you very much. Skarmory was in the air, but she had better sense than to mindlessly charge at the ariados in such a situation."

"Your let your skarmory gauge threats and respond accordingly without orders?" Tyson asked skeptically.

"Of course she can, I trained her," Red quipped, as if that explained everything.

Oak rubbed the tip of his nose, hoping that Tyson would stop poking at Red's every sentence, and conversely, for Red to stop taking offense at every word that came out of the ranger's mouth.

_It's like dealing with a bunch of children._

"Red, can you please just stick to the explanation? Ranger Tyson isn't trying to antagonize you. He is simply conducting his investigation."

"Maybe if I'd have been allowed to meet my half-dead team instead of having to go over everything I ever said, things would go differently."

Oak sighed. "Fine. Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

"Meyers came in and collapsed. He was blabbering," Red's expression sobered"and then he accused me and Growlithe for his condition and then..."

"And then what?" The ranger leaned forward.

Red looked up. "And then he died."

Tyson slowly stood up from his chair. "So the man pushed through a condition like that for a minute or so— after he crawled through the forest for god knows how long —and then the effects accelerated, causing death." He wrinkled his nose, "Do you have anything else you'd like to add to your statement?"

"He wasn't in the condition to compose his own epitaph if that's what you're concerned about," the teen replied scathingly. "Believe me, Travers didn't seem big on eulogies either."

"Red!"

"No nothing of any importance happened." Red sighed, clearly irritated, before continuing in a monotone. "I utilized the moment to solve the current problem."

Inwardly, Oak had to marvel at his ward. Despite being stuck in a situation like that, and seeing one death after another, it was a surprise Red hadn't lost his calm. Emotional testimonies were almost always overly exaggerated, but Red… he was never very emotional to begin with.

"Mawile employed Icy Wind to shatter the threads, and give us a chance to escape.."

_Good thinking._

"It was a mistake."

_Or not._

"What happened?" Tyson prodded.

"Travers," Red uttered the name with distaste. "Skarmory would have easily taken the ariados down, but he released a pinsir. Between the two, they managed to take Skarmory out of the field, leaving us alone to deal with." He paused for a moment. "Even so, it was still okay. I mean, we were two against one. What was the worst that could happen, right?"

Oak winced.

"And then he released it."

"Released what?"

Red swallowed. It didn't seem to help. Clearly the boy was imagining whatever had followed. Even his voice had reduced to a whisper.

"Golem!"

Oak shared a momentary glance with Tyson as the teen continued to speak, the mirthless smile on his face twisting into an expression of anguish. "It was—I was being insanely stupid. I thought it was just a rock type. Between Mawile's typing and Misty's water types, we would hold our ground. At least until Skarmory could return to us."

He looked away. "It is surprising that she managed to survive in the first place. In all honesty, I thought she was dead. Maybe that croconaw did know its stuff after all."

Oak looked bitter at that statement. Something that the boy picked up on almost immediately

"What's wrong? You did say Misty was alive and okay, so—"

"Mr. Ketchum," It was Tyson that answered in his stead. "Misty Waterflower was found, fallen on the ground, bleeding from her temples and unconscious. She was hit on the head with the gun Travers had on his person. There was a feraligatr near her with a hole bored through its head. Dead."

For once, the teen had nothing to say.

* * *

**Sometime later…**

"I might be overstepping my boundaries, sir, but I think your ward has terrible luck. People travel through Viridian forest every day and survive, and he gets nearly killed half a dozen times."

Oak chuckled mirthlessly. "Red's special that way. On that note, you really didn't have to be that difficult with him."

"Just following protocol sir," Tyson replied unapologetically. "You know as well as I do how Gym Leaders tend to be, and Mr. Waterflower's not known for his accommodating behavior."

"Or for his humility," Oak muttered under his breath. "I still cannot believe that the boy was insane enough to do what he did. Taking on a mightyena of all things with a shellder? All to save that growlithe?"

Tyson nodded agreeably. "I've been a ranger for five years, and I've yet to find myself in such a precarious situation. I'll admit that this is the first time we've heard about a trainer being ambushed by Team Rocket or any other criminal in the Viridian Forest."

"And how many of those trainers went off the beaten track into the deeper parts?"

"More than you'd believe," Tyson chuckled.

"So it's just Red's luck."

"For better or worse," Tyson quipped.

"I'm confused whether I should be thankful that Red managed to survive, or enraged that he tried those methods. Hitting a Mightyhena with a shellder? Jumping on top of an Ariados? People have died for less."

"Technically he'd be dead if we didn't reach him. Or if you hadn't coughed up the cash for extra treatment."

Oak gave him a blank stare that told Tyson everything the man thought about his contribution.

"..."

"..."

"What happens now?" Oak asked, "As I told you before, I want the matter solved with discretion."

"Well," Tyson looked like he was considering what to say, "The growlithe could technically be held accountable for Meyer's death, but the man is a criminal and from your ward's statement, he was electrocuting the beast. It can be played as an act of self-defense. The scyther though, it's more complicated."

"I thought Travers Brooks was _officially_ dead. Can you be held guilty for killing a dead man?"

"Is this because the scyther belongs to your ward?" Tyson interjected suspiciously "For all we know, the scyther could simply have a murder-happy disposition, considering it tried to kill Mr. Ketchum—"

"Only after Red captured it with bug repels." Oak shot back.

"—and then killed Travers Brooks—"

"—after the golem attacked it on his command."

Tyson did not speak again, as he stared at the esteemed former Champion. "You are really going for your... ward. I suppose we can make it an exclusion then. Of course, Mr. Ketchum has to agree to keep it at personal risk. If the scyther is found guilty of future crimes, Mr. Ketchum will be held responsible."

"That goes without saying," Oak responded. "Are we done here?."

"Almost," Tyson leaned forward. "Gym Leader Brock asked me to inform you that he will be taking charge of the golem. Something about being the best person to deal with a rock-type that has undergone conditioning like it has."

"Conditioning?" Oak raised an eyebrow.

Tyson shrugged. "Beats me. Something about rock-types and their fickle loyalty. Apparently, the golem has been… conditioned to obey _anyone _that holds its pokéball, regardless of the holder."

"So it is possible that Travers did not own the golem?"

"It is a valid assumption," Tyson agreed, "The Gym Leader clarified that while the golem's strength level is barely above average for its kind terms, its mastery over Rock Polish is comparable to the Gym Leader's own golem."

"I suppose the expert has the last say on the subject," Oak quipped. "I'm in favor of that. As long as I get ownership of that growlithe."

Tyson arched an eyebrow. "Winners, keepers?"

"Not… essentially," Oak replied with slight hesitation. "My ward risked life and limb to save a creature— experimental hybrid or not. I doubt he'd take it well if the growlithe ends up in a different prison after all it has been through."

"Sir, I respectfully suggest that you not take the matter personally, but to throw away a possible scope of intelligence research to appease a young boy—"

"I'm not pleasing anyone," Oak clarified, "The growlithe is an experimental hybrid— an illegal existence, and I understand that. Analysis of its blood will give the League intelligence on what Team Rocket is working with. That said, we also need to see the true capabilities of such a creature, and that can only be achieved in the field. Not inside a laboratory."

"You mean—"

"I have some ideas. I'll need to call a few favors, but I think the situation can be turned towards everyone's benefit."

Tyson looked like he wanted to object, before his face morphed into a mask of resignation. "...Yes, sir."

* * *

Kellan Namba had worked as an assistant under the infamous researcher Colress, notorious as the _Wickedest Man in the world_, for over five years, before the centennial-genius had vanished off the surface of the planet in a cataclysmic explosion that wiped out several hectares off the north-west coast of Hoenn.

Declared fugitive by the Hoenn League, Kellan had run from place to place, working for one power-hungry businessman or another. After several years trying to keep his head off the political grid, he had been recruited by a rather surprising individual, from an even more surprising organization—one with access to one of the most upgraded lab facilities in the world, on par with what he was used to, back when he worked with Colress himself.

That was seventeen years ago.

Today, Kellan Namba was one of the chief researchers in the entire organization, or at least he'd like to think so. As per the rules, he was unaware of the identity of the other researchers, just like they were unaware of his presence in the organization. Team Rocket believed in keeping information on a need-to-know basis after all.

Not that Kellan minded. As long as he got to pursue his research, humanity could destroy itself. It was why the Growlithe was such a significant development. A Fire-type with a synthetic Acid-typing, along with the possibility of limitless regeneration. So why couldn't Proton see its relevance? Kellan had yet to construct a hypothesis on its evolution, or indeed, if it could evolve at all, but he was confident that the creature would in time, be able to face off one of Proton's hydreigon as an equal.

He'd know. He created it.

_Now only if Proton stopped being… unreasonable._

"Sir Proton," He genuflected, "I understand why you might feel… unhappy about recent events, but I'm confident that you'd understand my reasons if you'd look at—"

The rest of his words died down in his throat, as Proton fixed him with a calm stare. It was one of the man's quirks. For someone so trigger-happy, Proton was a rather soft-spoken guy. In fact, people unaware of his identity could paint him as a flower-loving pacifist.

It only took a single glance at his penchant for active devastation to reassess one's opinion about the man. As it was, everyone in Team Rocket feared the mythical and non-existent wrath of Admin Proton.

At such proximity, Kellan couldn't help but stare into the man's was strangely fascinating They were heterochromatic, one blue and one white— the combination somehow raising an unexplainable uneasiness inside his gut. He couldn't put a finger on exactly what it was, he couldn't help but wonder if he had overlooked something extremely vital in his zeal.

"Namba," the Admin spoke in a dangerously calm voice, "it has been brought to my attention that you've wanted to be a part of Project Apotheosis for a long time now."

"Yes," Kellan wasn't sure where this was going, but he'd be damned if he lost a potential chance to become a part of it. He had wanted in, since the plan was launched seven years ago, but instead, he had been pushed into Project Nihilo instead. Not that he disliked where he was, but Project Apotheosis… Anyone who was anyone in Team Rocket wanted to be a part of it.

"And about the newest… venture we have going on, in Pewter?"

The Collapse protocol, sir?" Kellan offered. Truth be told, he didn't know a lot about the proceedings about this newest venture in Pewter city, save that it was an amalgamation of over a year's worth of careful planning and shaping of events. The details were not out in the open—things rarely were that way in Team Rocket—but there was no doubt it was extremely significant.

"The Collapse protocol," Proton went on agreeably, "has been running under complete confidentiality. Every step meticulously planned. Every line carefully drawn. Every bit of leaked intelligence… carefully controlled, before letting the dogs of the League sniff it out. All to throw them off on a different scent to keep the main operation running flawlessly."

Kellan nodded, unsure where the discussion was leading.

"And now, right when we are on the penultimate step, Team Rocket activity registers on the grid." Proton stood up, his hands raised animatedly as if holding a large advertisement banner in his hands. "Viridian forest in flames. Attack on children, by the big bad Team Rocket."

Kellan swallowed.

Proton turned to face the man. "I'm told that there were three successful specimens to be transported. The growlithe…." Proton seemed almost reluctant to speak of it, as if even mentioning it was causing the man endless pain, "the growlithe was deemed missing, and you sent people after it. What happened to the other two?"

Kellan gulped. "There was a gligar, and an eevee, sir. The gligar and eevee were in another room, away from the growlithe. We've managed to recover the gligar. It was heavily injured, but after healing it, I made sure to transfer it personally, through secured channels to Pewter Base."

"Not Viridian." It wasn't an accusation, just a fact.

"I… thought dealing with Brock was easier than Giovanni," the man professed, before hastily adding, "...sir."

"And the eevee?"

"The room exploded, sir. We assumed it was caught in the fire."

"And the growlithe escaped."

"Yes."

"And you… sent some of the best people Team Rocket had to offer behind it."

"Yes."

"Knowing that it was a fire-type and running amok in the middle of a forest."

"...Yes."

"With a squad of rangers on active patrol duty all around."

Kellan just swallowed this time.

"Especially," Proton's lips curled into a disarming smile, "knowing that the Collapse Protocol, centered in Pewter, is just one step away."

"...yes, sir." Kellan answered, "the growlithe was a success and I wanted to give it to you, sir. As such, it was paramount that it be caught before it was spotted by the League."

"Ah, and despite all your planning, your actions caused the death of a prominent Grunt Captain, my student—_my student—_" the man's voice kept getting harsher with every word, "causing a large forest fire, and now your _precious growlithe _is in the hands of the League."

"I... had believed that a grunt captain would have been able to handle such a simple…." The scientist paused midway, faced with an angry glare. Clearly it was the wrong thing to say.

"Travers was many things, but incompetent… he was not. What did you order him to do?"

"To… capture the specimen. Kill it in a last case resort."

"And to do that, my student attacked a ward of Samuel Oak— _Samuel fucking Oak_—as well as that Waterflower's daughter. And now, Samuel Oak—_the bogeyman himself— _is in Pewter. Do you realize how your one single action has messed up everything Team Rocket has been working on? That I have been working on?"

"I… had no idea, sir, believe me, I—"

"Where is the information about this growlithe? I assume you have its files somewhere in this… mess?"

"We have it in our servers, sir." Kellan offered hopefully.

"All of it?"

"All of it," Kellan swore, "I personally ensured we had a soft copy for every single research added to the local servers."

"Good," Proton muttered, "transfer the data to my private servers. I assume with the information you have, we can have an army of these… successful specimens?"

Kellan looked like he had seen a ghost.

"...?"

"Actually sir," Kellan considered every word, knowing he was treading on dangerous grounds, "I do have blood samples, but all three of the original specimens were infertile. We tried to recreate them, but the newer ones kept dying. The moment they tried to use an attack— hurkkkk!"

Kellan Namba felt himself lifted from the floor, and raised to the admin's level, meeting his infamous heterochromatic stare. "Go on. _Please?"_

The fingers constricted a little more. Kellan struggled, but somehow continued to speak. "They suffered spasms when using an attack, and then they died."

"Ah," Proton replied airily, as if talking about the weather. As if he wasn't currently strangling a man by the neck. As if said man wasn't gasping for air, coughing badly but yet, keeping himself from _touching him. _"A fluke then. All three were flukes. Years of resources spent on flukes, with the extra bonus of spoiling the Collapse Protocol."

Kellan coughed violently, now valiantly trying to keep Proton from crushing his windpipe.

"Sir—one last—"

"Tell me," the Admin repeated, a nonchalant expression floating on his face. "What should I do with you?"

"One last—last chance, sir—"

"Now the League will come, and they'll start an investigation. Samuel Oak's presence will draw Lance in. And just like that, the Collapse Protocol will... collapse." the man smiled bitterly. "Like a house of cards."

"—last—last—"

"Last?" Proton paused, looking at him curiously. For some reason, Kellan felt like a bug being studied by a researcher. "Last what?"

"Last chance— serum— work,"

Proton let the man fall down. Kellan dropped to the floor, coughing madly.

"Explain."

"Give me one day—twenty-four hours, sir. I'll get you a working blood serum for the successful specimens. At least the growlithe if not others." The scientist professed.

"Twenty-four hours you say?" Proton seemed to pause at that. "And a working sample?"

"Yes— yes, sir." The man rambled.

"Do it in twelve. Disappoint me and—"

"You won't, sir. You won't be—cough—disappointed."

"Good," The admin replied airily, before stepping past him. He took three steps before pausing again, "Also, I want all data transferred to my private server in an hour."

"I'll do that in thirty minutes."

"Hmmm," Proton smirked, "Godspeed then, Namba. Godspeed."

* * *

**Several hours later…**

"This should work! This has to work!" Namba muttered, his frame shaking from fear and anticipation. He had gotten twelve hours worth of borrowed time from the terrifying Admin—twelve hours to prove himself worthy and continue his research. As soon as Proton had deserted the compound, Namba had seen a squad of grunts scurry in.

Not that he could disagree with them.

With the forest fire incident, the League had dispatched two squads of Rangers into the forest, sniffing around for evidence of Team Rocket activity. The wrecked remains of the warehouse had already been located, and from what Kellan knew, there wasn't much time before the rangers would trace their way to the main base, even if the majority of it was constructed underground. Rangers weren't stupid, and any moron with a magnemite could fry the circuitry that kept up the _illusion _of forest cover in the area.

That was why the grunts had been busy, meticulously removing any and all necessary and expensive equipment from the base, putting them into folded-space containment units, before teleporting them away with a team of highly trained psychic pokémon. Within the first three hours, the entire base _screamed _empty, something that did nothing to quell the growing pit of despair within Kellan's stomach.

_All of this because of that damned growlithe._

The biochemical constitution of the current sample in hand seemed remarkably similar to the growlithe's own blood serum. 99.3% similar, in fact. The point seven difference was because of an extra modification—a touch of inspiration if you will—that allowed an easier assimilation of said serum into the test-subject's genetic structure.

_This should work. This has to work. This has to—_

Steadying his hands, he drew the serum into an injection syringe, before reaching for the first test-subject. The growlithe was tied to the table, its mouth shut, its body injected with a drug that reduced its flight-or-fight responses.

"Now let's see…" He pushed the syringe into the pokémon, making the creature yelp in slight pain.

And he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

_Nothing yet. All vitals steady. No sudden fluctuations in reserves._

The growlithe mewled in pain, and for once, Kellan felt his throat constricting. His fingers grabbed the edges of the table.

_Still no fluctuations All vitals steady._

The machine behind him made a sound, making him close to jumping out of his skin.

"**Subject P02 successfully assimilated. No fluctuations. Will begin processing the altered genomic sequence in 3…"**

Kellan let out a sigh in elation. He had done it. The new formula had worked. Of course, the creature would need to get used to the changes of its altered constitution before he could proceed with further tests. But he knew—_he knew—_this had worked. This, this had really worked, and now he'd—

_Wait._

Rushing to the terminal he tried to contact Proton.

He was answered after three rings.

"Yes?" The ever-calm tone did not help Kellan's nerves.

"Sir, this is Namba. I—the serum—"

"Get to the point, Namba. "

"The serum, sir— it worked."

There was a brief silence on the other side of the line. "Successfully?"

"I am certain, sir. The test subject successfully assimilated the improved serum. Physical tests will have to wait until the subject is conscious."

"I see." The Admin seemed almost… sad. "Is that all?"

"All—what—I mean, I reported the news of my success to you."

"I see," The Admin replied, "and have you relayed the new data to my servers?"

"Already done, sir." Kellan went on, trying to sound as subservient as possible. "When will I get teleported to my next base?"

"Your next base?" Proton asked airily, almost like he was confused at the question. "I thought you seemed quite at home where you are."

"Yes but—"

"Lord Proton," Kellan heard someone else speak, "the rangers are within 200 meters of the boundary."

"Wait, WHAT?" Kellan was surprised at the urgency in his own voice. "Rangers? Where?" He questioned hysterically.

A damning silence answered his query.

"Sir, Admin— Lord Proton, please forgive me for my —but rangers? Where?"

"Sir Proton?" Kellan begged.

"Yes, Namba?"

"When will—will I get—wait, you never planned on getting me out, did you? _Did you?"_

Kellan didn't know, but he could feel Proton smile from the other end. "Do you know the oldest lie in politics?"

"What does it matter? Just get me out of here!" Kellan was rambling, rushing to the door, only to find it—

_Locked?_

He wiped his card again.

_Damn. Why is this not working? Another glitch? At a time like this?_

He glanced at the terminal, a low static playing through the speakers. He didn't know how, but an eerie sixth sense told him that Proton had _not, _in fact, hung up on him.

"You cannot let them take me. I have too much information. I have so much research that Project Nihilo—"

The rest of his words died in his throat, even as Proton maintained a damning silence on the other side.

The call was still connected.

"You—you _bastard! How can you spit on me and my contribution like this? How can—?"_

"Namba," The airy, nonchalant voice answered. "Do you know the oldest lie in politics?"

"No and I don't fucking—" Kellan wiped the card for the seventh time.

_Locked._

"WHAT IS IT?" He yelled. "What's the goddamned lie? Tell me."

He could feel the other man smile. "I'm here to _help _you."

**Beep.**

"What the—wait—hello? Hello?"

Kellan stared at the screen which was no longer responsive to his commands.

**Access Denied.**

His brain literally rebooted at that, before it struck him.

"You… What have you done? You… planned this? That's why all of this ain't working! Damn you Proton! You son of a—"

The sound of a miniature explosion gave him pause.

"EVERYONE! STAY CAUTIOUS!" He could hear someone bark orders, followed by several sounds of people rushing through the base. The rangers had arrived. Proton—that son of a bitch had made him take the fall— his project would be scapegoated, conveniently taking all the heat off Pewter. Only someone like Proton could cannibalize one of his projects for another.

_But I just sent him all the data. _Namba's eyes widened as he looked around at his lab. His _empty _lab. Whatever research could be found would be enough for the league to reconstruct that experimentation had gone on here, but no more. Namba fell to his knees.

"_Heh! Is this all my years of effort have amounted to? Well guess what Proton, you may have my research, but I have my mind. You made a mistake here. You left me alive. I'll seize immunity from the League and bring your fucking Collapse Protocol down before your very eyes. I will—_

**Beep.**

"What— what is that sound?

**Beep.**

The terminal buzzed before swapping to a video feed. It showed the area directly outside— a group of Rangers breaking open the door. There were six of them, with probably more behind, all of them with red lights attached to their helmets, and a riot shield on one arm, with pokéballs on the other. He could see several magnemites hovering, with a nidorino, an umbreon and several—

Growlithe.

_How ironic. _Kellan noted cynically, as the constant beeping sound kept going on and on. For some reason, the rangers didn't seem to hear anything, and the opaque glass wall kept him from being spotted as well. Kellan yelled and banged against the glass barrier, but the 10-inch thick barrier held, regardless of what he tried.

**Beep.**

"He's…. He's rigged the entire base. He's—"

**Beep.**

Kellan kept on yelling, kept on banging, kept on hoping against hope that someone—anyone would find him, get him out—someone would listen to his words and get out and save—

His terminal rang again allowing a single number to float across the screen.

**05:22 PM.**

"What—" He began before the truth hit him.

Twelve hours.

"Heh! Help indeed."

..

..

**BOOOOM!**

The world around him turned to fire and ash, and Namba knew no more.


	19. Act 2 - Dust of Dreams | Chapter 2 - Operation: Get to Red!

Mawile was terribly confused.

If you asked her a summer ago, this would be no problem. Who cared if some human from wherever was injured? Not even Mabel could have elicited such a response from her. Sure, her mother would have thought differently, and perhaps Mawile would have accompanied her mother out of some sense of filial piety. Though come to think of it, had such a thing indeed happened, she'd probably have tried to escape from her gilded cage that was Pomace Mountain.

Things with Red shouldn't have been any different. Mawile remembered her original dream— for which she had travelled from her lands of snow to this… a place full of roads and forests and poképuffs. She wanted to travel the world, and no, her dream hadn't changed one bit. She still wanted to achieve the same, only now, there was an extra addition.

Red.

Mawile didn't know if it was a good or bad thing. Red wasn't like Mabel, old and inflexible. Nor was he like the old man that brought her to Kanto—old and full of ridiculous sayings of which Mawile couldn't make head or tail of.

No, Red was young and silly and unreliable as far as an intelligent human was concerned, though the concept of _strategy_ was not beyond him. Also, he gave her poképuffs and well, put up with her tantrums. Mawile could probably ignore his silly reasons for bringing in unproductive and good-for-nothing additions to the team—like that shellder.

And no, the rest of the team members didn't count. In Mawile's eyes, she had defeated that monster of an Ursaring and won Skarmory. She had kidnapped Growlithe and dragged his unconscious form across the forest. Red might have shown a modicum of ruthlessness in capturing that deviant of a scyther, but there wasn't anything special to it. Exposure to her own magnificence was sure to incite some mimicry in her trainer's psyche. It was about time, really.

At least, that would have been her thought process, around a week ago.

Now though…

"_**My body's… shut down. You, however, can still move."**_

The last words that Red had spoken to her in the midst of that burning forest still blazed in her mind. He had offered her a chance at escape, at survival, a chance to fulfil her own dreams, irrespective of the very real threat upon his own life. Sure, this wasn't the first time Red had done something stupidly noble. The episode with the Spearow flock came to mind.

…_Stupid Red._

It had been ten days since that ghastly incident amidst the burning trees. Ten days since she had come closest to dying. Ten days since she thought she'd die with her trainer. Ten days since she'd met Red in person.

And it was getting on her nerves.

It was not like she was _dissatisfied _with her current living arrangements—the humans around had allotted them a rather large grassy lawn with trees growing along the periphery, and a little fountain in the middle of it all.

The growlithe made it a point to sleep as much as he could in the shade, while Skarmory had taken to the air. The scyther seemed content at slashing at the branches and performing all sorts of acrobatics. What the mad bug was trying to achieve was anybody's guess.

As for Shellder, the water-type might as well be a rock—what with the way it stayed sunk in the fountain for most of the day. Then again, nobody ever accused Shellder of being a social butterfree in the first place.

Stupid things were stupid, after all.

The old man Oak had promised to take her to Red, but she hadn't seen him since. Not that Mawile could blame him. Red gave her poképuffs when he wanted something done. Mawile didn't know what the old man wanted, and she didn't really have poképuffs to give away in the first place.

Curse that forest fire for destroying all of Red's belongings.

Mawile considered their situation again.

Not just belongings, it seemed like _nothing _had made it out of the forest unscathed. Well, except for Shellder— not that the fool would realise something was wrong with it.

While she had recuperated within a single day of treatment, the same hadn't been true for the others. The scyther had suffered severe damage in its abdomen— the doctor had used the word _fragmented_.

Mawile was no healer, but she knew what a pain mending a broken bone could be. She had been unfortunate enough to break her ankle some two summers ago and the pain had been—

Mawile shuddered. Best not to engage in bitter memories of old.

The scyther, if the doctor's words were to be believed, had also broken one of his scythes. In fact, Mawile found the speed at which the bug-type had bounced back to health almost surreal. Bug-types were definitely good at healing.

It had taken the growlithe an extra day before it had been released. Mawile was glad to see that _collar _removed from the puppy's neck. Idiot or not, no creature deserved to be treated like that. The growlithe had been jumping at shadows for the next two days before it had adapted to the changing environment.

By deciding to ignore everything and doze like a slakoth.

_Puppies._ Mawile sniffed. _They are all the same._

And finally, there was Skarmory. Even to this day, the grotesque image of the large avian— bleeding from her abdomen, her entire body burnt a dull red with liquid metal trickling down—Mawile had never thought that such a creature could make sounds like that. It had taken the bird an entire week to recuperate, and even now, she looked pale and thin.

The shiny cloak of metal that covered her from head to toe was replaced with a crude exoskeleton, spread out in places and thinned at others. Obviously, whatever the humans had done was helping Skarmory regrow her armour, but even Mawile could see that it'd be some time before Skarmory would be back in her former glory.

More importantly though—

She missed Red.

She remembered him.

She remembered being utterly terrified of dying within the flames, only for him to grab her and return her into the safety of her pokéball. Mawile remembered feeling confusion when Red had released her back into the burning forest. For one moment, she had wondered if— if, despite her weakened state, Red was going to _force _her to use her powers to quell the flames.

The horror of dying like that, in the middle of a burning forest, had scared her out of her fur.

But when he did speak, it couldn't have been any more different.

_"You can still make it. See the world. Wasn't that what you wanted to do in the first place?"_

Mawile had been shocked out of her wits. Did the fool not realize the danger he—they were in? It had taken a moment before it had hit her. Red was asking her to desert him—take advantage of the opportunity, just like a deceitful creature such as herself would have done. Should have done.

And he was literally _asking _her to do it. To run away, to be the uncaring and opportunistic creature Mawile had once taken pride in being.

But she hadn't. Instead, she had chastised him for his silliness. Red was silly and stupid and somewhat of a dummy, but he was _her_ dummy. There was no way she'd ditch him like that, not after everything they had been through.

She had bit and dragged and pulled with every bit of her strength, uncaring if she drew blood. All that mattered was for Red to be safe.

As for the rest of the group...

Truth be told, she couldn't have cared less so long as Red lived. At that point, she would have done _anything _to get him out alive.

Instead, the dummy had spoken, once again shattering her world-view.

"_At least I can die with them. Keep them company in their final moments."_

And so he did.

Despite her attempts, Red had made no movement to save himself, and instead, had welcomed Skarmory's wing embracing him from behind. Mawile had never felt so helpless. She didn't want to die, but she didn't want to leave Red like that as well. She had cried and cried relentlessly but it had amounted to nothing.

Mawile sniffed. Best not to ponder over her less-than-successful efforts. Red was way too heavy for someone like herself to pull up. Difficult things were difficult, after all.

But enough nostalgia. It was time to consider her current situation.

Operation— Get to Red.

It had all started with charming the nurse. Mawile had jumped up at the opportunity and escaped the grassy lawn. A little leap here, a jump behind a pillar there, and soon enough, she had crossed the whole place. She moved from one corridor to another looking around for familiar faces. The old man was supposed to be somewhere, as well as the female that Red called Mom. If she was anything like Mawile's own mother, she'd not be a very helpful creature— erm, human to begin with.

Mawile came to halt. She was in a large room. One that looked exactly like the one she just left.

Mawile screamed.

…

...

Damn this place for having so many doors and corridors. What good were corridors anyway? They only made you feel like you were on the right track, only to trick you into the wrong place entirely. That and doors. Why did humans have so many doors? It was like having an opening in every wall of your cave.

It was like humans went out of their way just to make things complicated.

Mawile sighed, before pushing such thoughts out of her mind. They would not help here. No, now she had to find Red, and from what she realised, he would be behind one of the doors.

A determined expression on her face, Mawile slowly exited the room.

She would either find Red. Or tear down every door in this goddamn place.

And burn them for good measure.

Horrible things, really.

* * *

Delia Ketchum stepped out into the brightly lit corridors of the morning. Sleep was a luxury Delia rarely indulged in.

Her average day had her cooped up inside air-conditioned laboratories working with her fellow researchers. With the entire facility— the Parthenon —located in the outskirts of Pallet Town, it was a mere thirty-minute drive from home. And that was when Kaz was unavailable for teleportation.

_I almost cannot believe it's been around two weeks that I am away from work. Feels like something out of someone else's life. Is this what it's like to be a normal parent?_

One thought led to another, and Delia found herself revisiting old memories. Her initial antipathy over the way things had ended with that man, followed with her rapture upon being promoted to a full-time researcher instead of just a lab assistant.

It wasn't that she disliked having a child. She simply was not ready for one.

Still, she had thought she did an okay job. She had given him everything he asked for and more. Red had always seemed to be a happy child which made it even harder to realise that she wasn't giving him the attention he needed. The fact that he stayed around the ranch— her worksite back then —made it easier to ignore the growing estrangement with her own son.

_And now it led to this._

As concerned as she had been upon Red waking up, the teen's expression at her behaviour felt strange. The repeated episodes with Mia, followed by the ripples that those incidents had created in her mind, had altered her perspective of the situation, and though she deeply felt that she had wronged her son, the rational part of her kept screaming about the oddity of the entire situation.

The fact that Red was somewhat… guarded about her attempts at being a caring parent had not been overlooked either.

_Maybe… Maybe I should just take things slow? He's been without a proper parent all this time. If I force myself in, he'll only push back._

…

_That infuriating old man was right, as always._

Oak had suggested that she take a different route. Red had grown up by himself. Even Oak, for all his closeness to the boy, had been more of a mentor and friend to the teen, and not a guiding parental figure. It was probably why Red felt so comfortable mouthing off to him, despite knowing the professor's status as a former Champion and a venerated figure in the world of research. If she wanted to get into Red's circle of trust, she'd need to be his friend.

_I couldn't give him a mother. A friend then, perhaps? And if so, what would Red's friend do at this time?_

The answer rang loudly in her head.

Despite the teen's requests the other day, Oak had not complied with bringing the mawile or any other of Red's team to him. Not that she could blame him—the interrogation took greater priority, and after that, it was time for his medication and sleep.

_Perhaps I can bring him his starter. Mawile was it? Red would be happy to see her._

Delia wasn't surprised he hadn't named it. While Mia had grown to love her name, Kaz had been decidedly _unhappy_ that his title— something that most psychics were obsessive about —had essentially been created because a six-year-old Red couldn't pronounce Alakazam.

Eventually, the name stuck, but Kaz had explained to Red in great detail that most pokémon neither wanted nor cared about a random name forced on them by a human. He had started to explain the concepts of titles too but that had devolved into an argument about what a pokémon could possibly do to earn a title.

Long story short, Red would likely not name any of his team unless they wanted one.

Speaking of his team, Delia couldn't help but marvel at her son's thought process. The mawile was a starter so she couldn't criticise him there. No, that was Oak's fault.

Honestly, Delia had wondered why Oak hadn't given him a psychic of some sort. For example, a meditite would have been wonderful, especially if he got one closer to evolution. Medicham was gifted at extrasensory perception and would have kept her son safe. Compared to those, a mawile was well… plain.

Delia had looked through the new additions to her son's team. A Shellder… well, she didn't know what to think of that. Sure, she could afford a Water Stone for him, but cloyster were dangerous, and she was sure that he knew that as well.

The skarmory was definitely a brilliant addition. A powerful, winged pokémon dressed in steel. Skarmory alone should be able to take care of all of his battles with ease until Red shed his Rookie status.

From what she understood, her son had personally captured the scyther by overloading its senses with repels. She didn't know whether to commend him on his ingenuity or rebuke him for trying it in the first place.

As for the growlithe… it was kind of tied in some kind of bureaucratic nonsense. Oak said that he'd take care of it, so she probably wouldn't have to worry about it too much. He always _did _have a way of getting things done.

She slowly moved towards the pokémon zone.

_Red's team should be rehabilitating here.? Now all I have to do is— is that Mawile?_

Delia stopped short, staring at the creature in front of her. The mawile was trudging down the circular corridor, dejection visibly radiating from its form. Her expression was akin to one who had suffered a great injustice.

Her behaviour was quite... peculiar. The mawile would go in front of a door and use her jaw to gently turn the doorknob. Then she would peer inside expectantly before a sorrowful look spread across her face and she returned to the circular corridor. Mawile would then continue to the next door.

Delia found herself entranced by this strange behaviour and decided to watch. What on earth had Red been teaching her? Eventually, Mawile walked to the pokémon zone set aside for Red's team. The place where she _should_ have been all along.

Once again, she slowly, cautiously opened the door. Delia could see the expectation rising in her eyes. Expectation that soon turned into shock and then horror.

Mawile collapsed onto the ground and _screamed_.

* * *

"Really old man, are you really pulling the 'wait-till you're-older' card on me?" Red asked animatedly, using his fingers to draw quotes in the air as he went on, "I've literally grown up on your ranch."

Oak sighed. The conversation didn't seem to be going in the direction he desired if the growing frown on his face was of any indication. "That's not it. Hundreds of trainers start their journey after getting licensed. Ethan and Leaf are on their way to their fifth and third badge respectively. You on the other hand are—"

"A badge-less rookie, I know that," Red grumbled, "you don't need to point that out. I should have gotten out of Viridian right after my second day, and taken the ferry to Fuchsia. But I didn't, and spent my time at the Trainer's Square and then in making some cash at the forest. I might not have gotten badges yet, but I'm far from—"

"Weak," Oak finished for him, "I know, and I don't doubt that."

"That's surprising," Red arched his eyebrows, almost snobbishly.

"Stop it," The elder man chastised. "This isn't a laughing matter. You'd have _died, _Red. If not for the Rangers, you'd have— have—"

"Died, yes," Red answered, sobering up. "I know. Believe me, I was kinda surprised to find myself alive." He chuckled mirthlessly, "—almost thought that I'd—"

"This isn't a joke Red," Oak chastised. The man was clearly distressed, and it was beginning to show. "Just— hear me out. If you want to train yourself and your team that much, I can arrange something. You know Orca is always ready to entertain—"

"That's just it, old man," Red pushed himself against the bed to sit up straighter. "I don't want Orca to _entertain _me. "

Red paused momentarily as he remembered the great beast of fire that Oak commanded. Even as a child, Red was awed by the pulsating power within the magnificent beast.

"I want to push myself and my team to the best we can be," Red looked at the old Professor, straight in the eye. "I want us to be prepared for next time."

"Next time?" Oak asked measuringly. "Why? Because you can run head-on into another riot?"

"No," Red looked away, "so that next time _if _something happens, we can… _survive._ I just— it's kinda difficult to explain, but I—I—"

"You what?" the old man pressed.

"I gave up, all right?" Red exclaimed, his frustrations at himself seeping into his words. "I gave up. Fuckin— even Mawile was doing her best to get me out, and, and— I just gave up. I should have been the one trying to get my team out, and instead, I lay down and waited for death. I—"

"Red, you cannot—"

"I can," He looked up desperately, "It makes me feel guilty. It's like I just gave up and decided to be selfish. That it would be easier to just die instead of owning it up and getting my team out of the mess I had gotten them into. I just…. just…. _Arrgh!"_

He threw his hands out, shutting his eyes and screaming in frustration.

"…"

The older man didn't utter a word. If anything, it seemed like he was waiting for Red to put himself together. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Red turned to face him.

"…sorry."

"You don't need to apologise," Oak looked at him steadily. "What are you planning to do now?"

"Do I— Are you giving me the choice?" Red asked, "Once I get out of this place, I can continue with my journey. The hospital bill—"

"Don't worry about the money."

"I cannot just let you pay my bills every time I land up in a hospital."

"You'll find that you can." Oak smiled calmly. "I am your mother's employer. Her contract covers health concerns regarding Delia Ketchum as well as members of her immediate family."

"Health concerns that include stem-cell surgery of this level?" Red asked, raising his hands. "And now this?."

"Does it matter?" Oak half-smirked, "Either way, it's not something for you to worry about. You can pay me back by being a responsible trainer. That and trying to avoid things that put you in hospitals."

"I'll try," Red returned dryly. "No promises though."

"Of course," Oak answered in an airy tone, "I never expect the impossible from my students."

"Heh!" Red chuckled, enjoying their impromptu banter. "Seriously though, you make it sound like I attract all kinds of trouble."

"Well, yes. Particularly the life-threatening kind."

"Oh, come on," the teen groaned, "other than the forest, name one life-threatening—"

"The pikachu. The pallet forest trainer. The fearow flock. A wild murderous scyther. An experimental hybrid that could very well kill you, and—"

"I said name _one_," Red said sullenly. "You made your point."

Oak raised his hands up in mock surrender. "All I'm saying is that you need to exercise a bit more… caution. Look at Miss Waterflower. Sure, she was stupid to hire a rookie, but at least she had enough sense to ask for help before entering the forest. You on the other hand—"

"_Miss Waterflower,"_ Red mocked, "was also the one that suggested I capture the scyther instead of binding it down."

Oak opened his mouth and then closed it. "All right, a little more… cautious than her then."

Red sighed in frustration, "What do you want from me, old man?"

"I want you to be researching in my lab, but we don't always get what we want, do we?" Oak replied sassily, "I hope you understand just how lucky you and your team were to be found by the rangers. I've been a researcher for twenty-seven years now, and a trainer for much longer than that. That skarmory? I've never seen a worse case than that, dammit. Why would you teach her to melt herself like that?"

"It wasn't my idea," Red shot back, "you think I'd want my pokémon to kill herself?"

"Are you suggesting that she did that on her own accord? The metal on her wings has melted Red. It's a miracle she's even alive."

"You can say that again," The teen murmured, "It was my fault to face Travers like that. I accept that. But believe me, my original idea was to stall them enough to allow Growlithe to escape and then to flee. I told you that. Why won't you believe me?"

"I do believe you. But either you are being too casual with your training, or something else is at play here. A skarmory glides through the air, they do not, and I repeat, they do not flap their wings. Gust is not an option for them."

"I know," Red muttered in a small voice, "that's what I told her when she used it the first time."

"The first— you mean this has happened before?" Oak asked, flabbergasted.

"Yes," Red nodded. "Though not to this degree. The first time we trained was after I won her at Viridian's Trainer Square. I told her that her species wasn't meant to use Gust. But in the forest, I didn't know what she was doing or why. I was... fighting off the ariados there."

"Figures," Oak muttered. "You realize that you jeopardised the girl's life in your decision to fight those criminals?"

"You're still going on about that growlithe?" Red asked with incredulity, "My answer hasn't changed. Sure, I screwed up, but there's no way I'd act differently if given a choice. I don't regret it."

"You don't?" Oak asked accusingly.

"I don't," came the defiant answer.

"I see" Oak looked at him calmly "So you put the growlithe's life at the same level of Miss Waterflower?"

"What.? Yes, I mean, No— I—" Red paused. Was a growlithe's life really worth more than a human? Well, he would value pokémon in his team or Kaz and Mia much higher for sure. But he didn't know the growlithe at the time. He didn't want the growlithe to die, but it wasn't like he wanted Misty to get hurt either.

"I— " He tried again. " I just wanted everyone to be okay…"

Oak sighed. " I know the feeling Red. I've… lost things too. Everyone has when they've got to my age."

The old man paused for a moment before continuing.

"But sometimes you only get two bad choices. You saved the growlithe. You made it. And Misty lost her starter. Her life will never be the same. Was it worth it?"

"..." For once Red was speechless. He couldn't imagine losing Mawile. But that didn't mean leaving growlithe to suffer was okay, was it? Should he have left it to die? Should he have—

"There is no right answer here," Oak interrupted. "Or at least not with the way you are thinking. But it's something to think about. What do you value? Why do you value it? And how much are you willing to give up to protect it. I don't expect you to come to a conclusion now. But journeying is more than just capturing pokémon. It's about personal growth. And perhaps… perhaps you will come to your own answer."

"I will?" Red asked.

"In time."

"..."

Oak sighed again. " Either way, it's not like it changed matters for the poor creature. Creation of experimental hybrids is illegal. I'm obligated to send to the League for further experimentation to find out what has been done to him. It'd help us in understanding what Team Rocket is doing."

"WHAT? NO!" Red exploded. "I won't let you do that."

Oak looked at him contemptuously. "_YOU_ won't let me do that? Perhaps I should bring in Tyson again?"

"You know what I meant," Red went on, the desperation clear in his voice, "it has been tortured all its life. I promised I'd let it free, not to throw it into another prison."

"The League will get its data," Oak responded firmly.

"Only if you don't say anything about it." Red begged" Come on old man, can't you let it stay at your ranch and let your apprentices collect research data? Who knows what the League guys will do to it?"

"That's a fairly high amount of concern you're showing for a creature that's not even your capture. Officially at least."

"So what? I don't need to own something to care about it." Red shot back. "Come on, old man. Do this as a favour. I'll do anything you want."

"That's a dangerous word you are throwing around me."

"Anything," Red said firmly. He had made a promise to the pokémon and he would keep it. Even if… Even if Oak made him go back to the ranch for it.

Oak opened his mouth and then closed it. Then, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Finally, he replied, "Impulsive, as always. Then again, it was to be expected."

He opened his eyes, staring into the teen as if looking _into _him. "Well, there might be a way to satisfy everyone.."

Red looked up at the old man.

"Anything." He repeated again.

"And I keep telling you not to throw around promises like that. Anything is a strong word." The venerated professor shook his head at the teen's defiant mannerisms. "Your tendency of jumping in with both feet will kill me someday."

The old man paused before abruptly changing topics.

"Do you know what makes that growlithe so special? Anything at all?"

That stopped the teen short. He had certainly not seen _that _question coming. "It's Shiny. If growlithe were lavender-coloured with pure white manes, I'd remember," He paused, "unless there is something I'm missing."

The professor lifted up the teen's pokédex and entered certain codes into the device. Soon, new information began to flood in. "Check this out."

Turning the device around, Red looked at the image on the screen. It looked like an ordinary growlithe, only that—

"Normal manes, and yellowish fur." Red murmured, frowning as he looked up. "What's that then? Some… rare Shiny-ish thing?"

Oak laughed. "Not quite. The term you are looking for is a _Variant._ It refers to individuals who have expressed different genes than what is usually displayed by their species. It can be a new colour, a new ability, or a modified typing. Essentially, it is a type of mutation or divergence."

"Then… Shiny is the colour variant?"

"Close," Oak said appreciatively. " While several colour variants can be formed through random or induced mutation, it is an observed fact that most pokémon species tend to favour a specific colour variation when undergoing natural, random mutations. Shiny is just the most _common _colour variant.."

"Hmmmmm," The teen frowned. "Shiny _is_ a rather odd choice for a name."

"It is, isn't it," Oak agreed. "This happened because the first official capture of this kind of divergence was a pidgeotto. It had golden fur instead of the usual pale brown. The lab that was working with it tended to call it the 'Shiny pidgeotto'. The name ended up sticking.."

Red chuckled. "Interesting anecdote."

"Then tell me, if you thought it was a Shiny, why did you want to give it to me?" Oak asked, his eyes focussed on the teen's face. It was almost as if the man was studying him.

After a few precious seconds, Red spoke up. "I don't have the kind of money needed to evolve it. Three fire-stones can cost over sixty thousand."

"I can assure you that your mother makes more than enough to afford that expense without issue."

"You _know _what I mean," Red whined.

"Why?" Oak pressed. "Why won't you just ask for help?"

"I— I—,"

"Red," Oak replied softly, "I understand that Delia hasn't been… well, an active part of your life. But I think she's started to realize that and is trying to make overtures."

"Is that— she was uhm— you know!"

Oak shrugged. "Why don't you ask her? She is here for you now and has been here every day since you got admitted. And yet, here you are, talking with me for the fourth time since you recovered. Have you spoken to her yet?"

"Well… not really. I wouldn't know what to talk about with her. Usually, it's— hold on a sec, where's Mia?"

Oak looked slightly conflicted, before carefully responding. "Why the sudden interest?"

"Old man? Where's Mia? Is she alright?" Red was almost panicking now. He didn't know why, but an unexplained terror was spreading through his veins.

Finally, the old man seemed to speak.

"Mia is… unwell. She's been admitted to the hospital."

"What? Why didn't anyone tell me?" Red started to freak out. Mia was sick? Mia had never been sick. Something was wrong—something was—

"You were in the forest. We got her to the hospital," Oak went on, his tone forcibly soft and controlled. "But there is no need to worry. She's safe now, and she's been brought here, to Pewter Hospital, in fact."

"Mia's here? Where? I want to see her!"

"I'm afraid not. She's been put into a medical sleep for… healing. I'll take you to her when she's awake."

"Please!" Red gasped. " Something is wrong. I can feel it. You said the same thing about my team. Why are you keeping me away from them?"

He was starting to panic again.

Oak raised his palm up to calm him down. "That's not true." He picked up the glass of water on the table. "Here, drink a little. Yes, calm down. I told you, didn't I? Your team is absolutely fine."

"Then why don't you let me see them?" Small amounts of delirium were seeping into the teen's tone as he reluctantly accepted the glass and took a sip. "Then—"

"I've asked Delia to fetch Mawile for you. She will be here soon enough."

"You— you're not lying to me, right?"

"Have I ever?"

"Yes."

"…oh well, I'm not lying right now. Is that good enough?"

Red took another sip of water. "Mom's gone to bring Mawile? No tricks?"

"None." Oak looked at him concernedly, "Do you need some rest? I can come later."

"No…" Red looked up at the man desperately. "I just want to see my team. And Mia. _Please_."

The older man nodded slowly.

"Alright. Delia will bring Mawile over soon. After that, we can go see the rest of your team. Mia is currently not conscious, but you can go see her if it means that much to you."

After several moments, Red spoke again. "What was your… idea about keeping the growlithe?"

"Ah, right," Oak's eyes lit up, "so the main reason to reject the growlithe is that you think you can't afford it?"

"In… a way," Red replied, feeling a bit self-conscious.

"At least it's not because of your obsession with charmander," Oak sighed. The man seemed slightly annoyed, but the little smile floating on his lips spoke otherwise. "Back to the original question, did you find anything special about the growlithe? Apart from the colour difference, of course."

Red paused at that, considering his words, "It can regenerate pretty damn fast. It was already moving by the end of it, despite being, you know, crushed by the arbok." He looked up. "Regeneration, I think? I recognized it back then, but what's so special about it? Tangela can regenerate vines, as can several grass types."

"Close, but no cigar," Oak pinched the tip of his nose. While that is a valid hypothesis, you are quite off the mark. It's not the regeneration you know. This is different. This is a synthetic ability that is similar, but more… aggressive."

"Aggressive?"

"This growlithe can… literally regenerate almost anything, be it muscle or tissues to even entire organs. I'm not sure if it could regrow lost limbs, but from what you tell us, that could be possible too. I'm certainly in no hurry to try that out though."

Red allowed himself to let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. "So, what's going to happen to it? You said you had an idea."

"I do. You know that I'm your de-facto guardian and sponsor, right?"

Red nodded.

"And that anything you do carries over to me?"

"Me and any and all other trainers you sponsor. What is your point?" Red was starting to get frustrated by the round-about way Oak was handling the situation. A part of him couldn't help but keep worrying about Mia, and his still-absent team.

"Anyone entrusted with the growlithe will need to take care of it, at least get it to an elite standard, and keep sending periodic reports about its physiological and emotional growth as well as its skill development to the League. Or to be more precise, sent to the authority that can submit quarterly reports in his stead."

"…"

"Of course, if I am to be that authority, then said person would need to be registered as _employed _under me, as an… infield assistant researcher, for lack of a better word, and be able to properly take care of what is essentially a unique creature that might create an entire new divergent branch off the growlithe line."

Red stared at him, slack-jawed.

Oak blinked. "What?"

"… You'd… you'd go all the way through this, and hang Growlithe's future like a sword above my head, just to make me a researcher?"

"Perchance have you come across the phrase, two birds with one stone?"

"I have, thank you very much," Red smiled despite himself, "though this is the first time I'm seeing it in action."

Oak smiled. "I'm very pleased. I've always found that teaching through experience often triumphs over theoretical study."

Red didn't deign to acknowledge that statement. He'd be damned if he let the old man have the last word. "I can… do that, but I'll need to talk to Growlithe if he's interested in staying with me or…"

"If he refuses, he will be sent off to my ranch, as you requested, though that will mean him having to deal with my assistants back there. In the worst-case scenario, should he be uncooperative, he will be forwarded to some other researcher or directly to the League. After all, I'm not exactly known for my work in pokémon physiology, so someone like Ivy or Sanders would be a better choice."

"Or I keep him with me."

"Or you can keep him with you, and report back to me periodically. About his growth, any new changes to his external body structure, or abilities. Stuff like that."

"And his evolution? Will I have to pay for it all?" Red complained. Getting nothing but an annoying stare from the venerated professor, he continued, "Seriously, it's like I'm being punished for doing the right thing. This is just you and mom getting back at me for not choosing a research career. I just know it."

"Congratulations. You are finally learning what it means to be an adult. Your mother is going to be so proud." Oak smirked. "But no, you will be reimbursed for research costs. Which include anything the growlithe uses be it food, techniques or evolutionary requirements."

"Wow," Red breathed.

"Yup," Oak continued smugly. "Researchers are paid a lot. Why if you decide to become a full-time—"

Red rolled his eyes. "Being a field-research is fine!"

"Why Red, it's almost like you're accusing me of forcing you to do something. I'm happy to keep it at the ranch."

"Of course, you aren't," Red shot back. "But seriously, old man. Thanks a lot. It couldn't have been easy for you to get the League to give a kid the growlithe."

"You don't worry about that. Just focus on doing well."

Red's eyes softened. " First my treatment and now this. I don't know how I'd ever pay you back. I—"

The rest of his words died in his throat, as the door to his room burst open, and a very, _very_ familiar entity stepped in. One that brought him tremendous relief.

_Thank god she's okay._

Red smiled before he got up and moved towards her. "Mawile," he called out.

The moment she heard his voice, Mawile bounded forward excitedly, letting out a burst of recognition—

"MAWAWAA!"

* * *

Night had fallen.

The sky above was starless, almost like an ever-consuming void that threatened to consume even the slightest light.

The darkness stirred.

Red eyes looked around desperately and found nothing around her. Nothing but an endless lake shining a pale, translucent crimson.

How long had she been here?

Weeks?

Months?

The monotonous nature of the area made it hard to trace the passage of time. Slowly, she was becoming… less.

Thoughts.

Emotions.

Memories.

Desire itself began to dull.

It wasn't like she lost everything though. There were still things she managed to keep. Things that were important to her.

She was Mia.

She was Mia and she had Red.

Red was important to her.

Or was he?

The only thing allowing her to keep her sense of self was desire, and now that too was beginning to fade.

_Would it be so bad… to just let go?_

Mia looked up and prayed. Prayed that Red would find her and bring her to safety. Or if she… If she vanished…

At least what came out wouldn't bring harm to Red.

The lake began to stir and spear-like tentacles rose forming an image in blood. It had frightened her at first, but she had gotten used to it. Nothing frightened her very much anymore. She had already lost most of who she was.

Except for Red. And she was Mia.

That was important.

Somehow.

She didn't know how or why, but she was sure of it.

"**Have you made up your mind yet?"**

The voice interrupted her thoughts, harsh and sweet at the same time.

She ignored it.

Conversing with that _thing _did her no good.

The image shifted, before appearing in front of her. It smelt of blood and malevolence and hunger— _so much hunger. _A presence that would lead everything that was bright and happy to its doom, dragging it into the blackest night.

And then _it_ smiled.

"_**You're rather tenacious for a frail little thing."**_

She wouldn't listen.

_She wouldn't listen!_

She couldn't afford to do so.

It wanted her to disappear. To harm Red. But she had made up her mind. She would break free. Break free or in the worst case…

In the worst case, she would take it down along with herself.

"_**I'm not your enemy."**_

She ignored it. She knew Red was there, somewhere, and he'd come for her. She could feel it. As time went by she could feel him closer. His emotions were stronger. It was something that she could almost grasp and yet slipped through her fingers.

"_**Clearly you do not understand your own interests.'**_

Here in this… nothingness, there was but a single hope she could hold on to. A single thread with one end leading into the darkness, with no promise of light and love and happiness, vanishing into the void. And on the other…

_Save me._

She tried to grasp hold of it once again.

"_**I will show you what you are missing"**_

The scene changed. It was Pallet Town, only more vibrant, more lively, filled with an eternity of joy. And then, tiny rivulets of crimson began to flow out of the lanes, the forests, mixing and merging into some kind of giant chasm that led to—

Mia shook her head. Why? Why couldn't she grab it? Why wasn't it answering? The thread led to Red. She could feel it.

_Help me. Please._

The voice snorted before the scene from the vision overwhelmed her. All the emotions, all the _energy, _flowed into her.

"_**This could be yours. This power could be yours."**_

And what a power it was. She had never experienced anything like it before. Even back then, before she had drowned in the river of blood, even that spark of light, or power— even that had been _nothing _compared to this.

All of these negative thoughts and emotions— all of them congregating into large rivers and merging into herself. With that kind of power, all it would take would be a twist of her fingers, and the entire world would be swept into the cries of insanity.

It was _overwhelming._

"_**Like it should be. Like you deserve."**_

But she didn't want it. The entirety of her desire was concentrated on a single thing.

"_**You can have anything you want. I will make all of your desires come true."**_

Mia looked back at that single thread in the darkness.

The one that connected her to him. The one that she simply wasn't able to grasp no matter how much she tried.

She slowly gathered herself. She had enough in her for one more try. One in which she would put her everything into.

"_**All you have to do is give up."**_

Mia used all her power and latched on to it. No matter how difficult, no matter how far, this was _her_ Red. Even now it was slipping. Almost as if she was not allowed to connect to him.

But that was irrelevant. No one had the right to stop her from feeling Red.

Not even herself.

Mia gritted her teeth and _pulled._


	20. Act 2 - Dust of Dreams | Chapter 3 - A Prison Without Locks

"MAWAWAA!"

"Mawile!" Red screamed in excitement, bodily pushing himself up, only to hiss out in harrowing pain, as the stitches near his calves strained in protest. Oak shot up from his chair and pulled the agonized teen down to a less-strenuous position on the bed. Despite the sudden jolt, the excited grin returned to his lips, and his eyes gained a spark in them.

"Mawile, you're here, finally!" He gushed in elation, seeing the rapidly shifting expressions on his starter's face. "I—I—"

The rest of his words died in his throat, as Mawile _leaped, _stepping on the chair and then on the bed, before she was right there, beside Red and pushing her face into his chest, nuzzling against him affectionately. The little creature kept murmuring things in her own tongue, uncaring about her open display of affection towards her trainer.

"She does seem very happy to see you." Delia, who had just stepped in, commented at the sight.

"That she is," He replied softly, reaching down to stroke her head "I'm happy to see her too," Red smiled happily, not looking up from his starter. He began to caress the fur on the back of her neck. "Though I'm glad she's forgotten about the whole affair—"

Mawile glanced up at him with an expression far too murderous to be on something that small. For some reason, that only made him smile wider.

"—Or not," Red finished, "not that I can blame her. It was stupid of me to just give up like that."

Apparently that was the right thing to say. The little fairy seemed content with his answer and returned to her comfortable position.

Really, she was a spoiled little princess. Not that he'd have it any other way though. If anything, he was glad that she—

A wave of extreme disorientation slammed into him like a sledgehammer. It was almost like something was trying to pull _him _out of his skin.

It was… jarring. It had come out of nowhere, and he'd probably be thinking about where it came from if not for the sudden undercurrent of anger that flitted through his mind. He felt an overwhelming sensation to grab his starter closer as if the _intruder— _who had stepped into the room — would snatch it away.

He looked up at his mom. It was almost like _her _voice had triggered an eruption of violent insanity inside the pits of his mind, one that would fight tooth and nail before it could be subdued.

If he had to describe it in a single word, it would be _wrong._

After all, this was his mother. She had come to Pewter for him. She cared for him, she—

His thoughts were interrupted by Mawile, as she gently nuzzled her face into his shirt, making soft, cute noises even as she adjusted herself into a more comfortable posture.

And just like that, the dark blob of insanity receded back into the murky depths it emerged from.

Red blinked.

_What was that? Why… Why did I feel that way? Did—?_

A sharp nudge interrupted his train of thought.

Mawile had cuddled into him, her little arms holding onto him, almost as if afraid he would vanish. It was endearing how the little thing—whose hands wouldn't even encircle his leg completely, was trying to pull him together.

His eyes softened. His attention now shifted, Red ignored the strangeness of the situation and began to caress her soft fur all over again.

"Don't think you're in the clear," Delia commented, "Your choices do not engender any degree of confidence, young man."

Red met her eyes momentarily, before turning towards Oak with a scowl, nearly missing the hurt expression that flitted across his mother's face. "I thought I cleared it all out with the old man here."

"Honestly, kids these days. Why can't they be a bit more respectful?" The professor grumbled good-naturedly.

"I would be, if you didn't force my options the way you did," Red refuted, before raising his hands in mock surrender, " I'm not whining about it. But that doesn't change the fact that you forced it on me."

"What's he talking about?" Delia intervened, a little confused about the shift in topic.

"The old man let me keep the growlithe instead of handing him over the League."

"He did?" Delia asked, curious. She peered at the elder man, as if trying to ascertain the crux of the matter before returning her eyes on her son, "And why would that upset you?"

"Red is now _employed _at the Parthenon, my dear." Oak replied, looking smug at getting his way, "he'll be serving as a field researcher, taking care of that growlithe, training it to reach its maximum potential and a couple of other things I'd need him to do every now and then. Of course, I've yet to send for an official contract but I presume it'll be done before we leave Pewter."

Delia pursed her lips, almost like she was conflicted about whether to be irritated or pleased. "You mean, he's not returning to Pallet."

Oak shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Besides, at least now I'll be able to keep track of him. You know the perks provided to field researchers. You were one, after all."

Red looked up at his mother, surprised. "You were?"

"Of course I was," Delia snorted. "Did you think that someone would just pick a trainer— _explorer _or not —and drop her in one of the highest-profile labs in Kanto? I had to show that I had the skill and the tenacity for the job."

"You forgot about 'willingness to tinker with dangerous forces'," Oak interjected.

"That too," Delia smirked.

"Don't let her stoic outlook fool you, Red," the professor turned to address the surprised teen, "Delia was quite the impulsive poliwag back in her youth. Why, during the Galar expedition—"

"Professor!" Delia squeaked sheepishly, "please don't go about embarrassing me like that."

"Uhm… I wouldn't mind hearing about that." Red mumbled. Truth be told, he knew very little about his mother's early life apart from a few snippets from her time as an explorer. Then again, he had no clue what happened to her original team.

"As flattered as I am about your interest regarding my past… foolishness, now is not the time for it." Delia seemed slightly conflicted for a moment, before turning towards the old man, "What were you saying about the job offer then?"

"Ah right, I got distracted," Oak mused, cupping his chin, "The usual perks apply. Expenses will be reimbursed appropriately. From what I understand, this growlithe might well diverge to form a whole new subspecies of the growlithe line."

Red blinked at that. He had never thought that the growlithe could be _that _important. That was probably why Travers was so desperate to get it back.

"Yes, while that is very interesting," Delia said uninterestedly, "Has anyone considered the fact that this new _progenitor _might also invite the attention of the more… unsavory kind?"

Red paled at that. "Team Rocket."

"That, and Hunters, should someone leak the news out in public." Delia turned to Oak, "do you still think it's advisable to let my son in the wild with that creature in the interests of science?"

"Hunters?" Red repeated in confusion.

"They're poachers who catch pokémon and sell them," Oak explained, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You cannot honestly equate a mere poacher to those mercenaries, professor," Delia fought back before turning towards Red, "I know you feel strongly against poachers, but understand this. You even hear about a Hunter nearby, you leave town. Immediately."

"But—"

"You leave. _Immediately._"

"Delia," Oak intervened, "perhaps we should try to break middle ground?"

The old man turned to Red before continuing, "Your mother is speaking for your benefit. Hunters are dangerous. _Very _dangerous. Nothing short of an Ace Squad can stand against them."

Red blinked slowly. "Then Travers—"

"Would not be able to stand against them. If you happen to run into one… Oak paused briefly, "You don't have to be overly worried. Information about the growlithe is on a need-to-know basis, and the people who know about it can be counted on one hand. As long as you are discreet, you will be fine."

"But—" Delia began.

"But I'll take care of it. As Red put it, _it's just a color variant_. Not as common as a Shiny but a simple color variant nonetheless. Besides, a growlithe isn't a very profitable venture for a hunter. "

"I don't like this. Why must my son be the one to deal with this?" Delia complained.

"Because I don't want him to land up in another prison, _Mom,_" Red stressed, _" _I asked for it."

"And why would you? You refused my apprenticeship offer point-blank. Why would you _chain_ yourself back into my world when you're free to pursue your dreams?"

And wasn't that a loaded question? Red didn't like it, but that didn't make her words any less true. He had longed to start on his journey since he was eight. And now, he was _volunteering _to serve as a field researcher for a Growlithe that for all he knew, didn't even want to be with him in the first place.

But what if he did? He made friends with Mawile after all. He—

A soul-wrenching scream tore through his psyche causing waves of agony to pore through his mind.

What was going on?

He couldn't understand it, but he felt like he could recognize it.

Like he _should_ recognize it.

It felt feminine and yet alien. It screamed for help and yet, darkness and rage was all it left behind in its wake. And in that darkness, something else arose.

Annoyance.

Irritation.

Apathy.

Hate.

It almost felt like his mind was being shredded. Like—

"MAWAWAA!"

And just like that, it was over.

Red looked up, opening his eyes. The constant sounds of something beating kept reverberating in his mind. Struggling to focus, he found himself falling head-first into the bed. The sudden pressure from his chest had made Mawile squeak out in anger, and that had shaken him out of whatever that eeriness had been. Even now he was reliving the sensation of being stretched and pulled in all directions.

He glanced at his starter, who glared at him unhappily. Clearly she wasn't very appreciative of being squeezed like that.

"Sorry," he muttered, before he picked her up, even as the buzzing faded from his ears. And then it was gone.

Just like the previous time.

"Red?" Delia asked, concerned. The woman had approached him during… those moments— and was standing right next to him. The distance felt awfully comforting and discomforting at the same time."Are you okay? What happened?"

"...nothing, just…" He controlled himself. It was strange, whatever was happening to him. "I'm okay."

_Please stay away from me._

He blinked. Why had he thought of that?

"Are you feeling sick again? Do you want me to call the doctor? Professor, perhaps he can—" Delia began.

"It's nothing just—" _Why do you keep—_

"—needs to rest." — _trying to push your opinions—_

"—a headache, and please—" —_down my throat?_

He gritted his teeth in anger and irritation.

He wasn't sure when he had last felt emotions like that, at least on this scale. Even back there in the forest, all he had felt was a reluctant admittance of his wrong decisions, and some regret, before it had all culminated into embracing the possibility of certain death. And more importantly, _why was she speaking like she gave a damn again?_

She wasn't there when he needed her. Yet now she spoke with a passion as if she had been caring for him all her life. Such blatant hypocritical—

He physically shook himself out of that train of thought. Why were his thoughts becoming so… fazed... jumbled… ?

He really couldn't think of an appropriate description for it.

He shook his head, several times this time for good measure. He wasn't sure why he did that, but it did help him feel slightly better. At least now, his thoughts were cohesive now.

Blinking several times and taking a deep breath, he looked up. Delia stood at his side, her face split into concern and something like fear. Oak, on the other hand, had a searching expression on his face.

It only made him feel worse.

_Great. I suppose even he thinks I'm a lunatic or something. Oh come on, say something._

As if in answer to his prayers, Oak spoke aloud. "Are you feeling… sick or something?"

"It's— It's just a headache."

"Do you want to get some rest?" Delia asked, bringing her face closer. Red could spot something like doubt marring her features.

"No, I'm okay," he took a sip of water from the glass next to him. What were we— I mean— Don't worry. I'm sure the old man must have thought of something. I doubt it'd be a big issue. I mean, it's just a growlithe. Right?"

"I don't understand why you are taking this so lightly," Delia replied tersely. "Why don't you come back home with us? The growlithe can stay at the ranch, with your team. You'd be safe from harm there."

He frowned. "I'm not going home."

"And why not?" his mom looked like she was starting to get upset."Red, this isn't a joke. You could have been injured, or worse, _dead._ This is already the third incident—"

"The fourth," Oak supplied helpfully.

Delia's right eye twitched.

"Mawawaa!" Surprisingly enough, it was Mawile this time, hollering at Oak, raising her tiny hands to mimic a large, two-legged creature, presumably one that was jumping on him.

"She's referring to the zangoose," Red translated. From Mawile's satisfied expression, he was probably right. The looks on the two people in the room, however—

_Oh right. Shouldn't have done that._

"Five times then," Oak confirmed, nodding his head sagely. Red decided to ignore the soft harrumph that his starter made as she pushed herself into his shirt.

And on that note, it would probably be smart to ignore the look on his mother's face as well.

"Red you have to _understand_ how dangerous this is," Delia began furiously, "There's nothing that you can learn on your journey that we can't give you at the lab. Why don't you—"

"Mom," Red groaned and palmed his face, not wanting to quarrel, especially with the way the strange emotional rollercoaster his mind seemed to be on, "I still have to complete my customary year-long journey, remember? Every graduate has to do that before they pick their profession."

"Only for those without a recommendation," Delia corrected him in her teacher-voice, "I believe I offered you a direct apprenticeship contract. Between my own credibility as an independent researcher and the professor here vouching, I highly doubt something like a _formal _journey would be remotely—"

"It _is_ important," Red interrupted. "To me."

Delia looked like she wanted to protest but apparently couldn't find it in herself to refute.

"But Red," she began in earnest, "surely you realize you're putting your life in danger?"

"I didn't jump into trouble if that's what you're saying," he snapped_._

Did she think he did it on purpose? And what should he have done? Let the Growlithe die?

Red opened his mouth to continue but before he could speak his vision faded and he found himself in his room back in Pallet, kneeling on the floor, his mother bandaging his scraped knee while lecturing him loudly.

"_Picking fights with the other kid? Like a bully? Why would you do something like that?"_

"_I didn't pick a fight," Red found himself yelling back. "Gary was the one. He made fun of me. He started it."_

"_And you finished it!" Delia thundered, "You hurt him. You don't get to play the victim card here."_

"_But—" he began, but no more words left his lips._

"_You'll go to school and apologize to Gary tomorrow. I want this matter to end right here."_

Red looked away, not wanting to continue yelling. She wouldn't understand. She never did. She'd always blame him.

For trapping her in a taking her time. For not being perfect For creating distractions at work. For—

For _existing._

Somewhere deep within him, a tiny fire began to burn.

"RED?" Delia repeated. Her voice brought him back to the present. Right, the hospital.

_What was that?_

Red didn't ever remember actually feeling like that. Why were his memories being so… messy?

"Uh… yeah?" He said carefully. What were they talking about again? Oh right, the growlithe.

The dull throb echoing through his head was becoming worse. And this conversation was not helping. He couldn't understand why his mother was being so… _obstinate_ about it all. It wasn't like she had any business poking her nose into his life as a trainer. She had never been present in—

Red stilled.

The mere thought was bringing up memories. Memories that were making him experience strong emotions. Emotions that were beginning to cycle. The question was—what was causing this?

Was it… was it the headache? Or was it something else? Why was he remembering all those events after all this time? Why was it so difficult to…._not be angry?_

_Deep breaths. _He told himself. _Deep breaths._

Steady breaths often calmed him down. It was pretty much the only technique he had learned from Kaz that had actually turned out to be useful.

Having regained a modicum of control, he refuted back. "I'm more than just a low-rookie, you know?"

"I don't see how!" Delia confronted him. "You've yet to get your first badge."

Red clenched his fists. He was back to a different memory. One of him running down the stairs, ready to tell his mother about the medal he won in school, only to find her preoccupied with her work. She had nodded indifferently before returning to her files. Red had waited for thirty minutes before excusing himself.

She hadn't even seen him go.

That was the first time he wondered if he even _mattered. _Would she even realize if he left home?

He had been very close to testing that assumption.

And then Mia had shown up and he had ended up… distracting himself. But now as he stood, back in the shoes of his eleven-year-old self, he couldn't help but feel angry about it all. The rage, the feeling of powerlessness and contempt—

He looked up at his mother in the eye and retorted. "Just because I have no badges, doesn't mean that I'm weak— Regardless of your disregard!"

Delia blinked in surprise. "Dis— Red, I'm not disregarding your skill. I'm telling you that you've merely begun your trainer's journey and already you've run into trouble."

"I didn't _ask _for that trouble," Red shot back, definitely"I do not go _looking _for trouble. And just so you know, I fought a High-Intermediate trainer and won."

"I'm not discounting that," Delia replied, taken aback at the sudden vitriol, before the meaning in his words struck her, "wait, a high-intermediate trainer? When?"

"At the Trainer Square," Oak answered instead, never taking off his eyes from him.

For some reason, it made him feel uncomfortable. The professor's discerning gaze seemed to see through him, almost like his very feelings were naked in front of him. It wasn't a pleasant experience, and speaking of unpleasantness—

_I can't believe I came at her like that._

It was strange. Come to think of it, when was the last time he had _really _acted out in anger?

Even so, it felt good. Much better than before.

And the fire inside him burned a little hotter.

"Red?" Oak questioned again.

"Uh… yeah?"

"Can you _please _explain what caused you to take part in such a travesty? I thought I taught you better than that."

Affronted, Red repeated stubbornly "I won."

"Yes, you did, there is no denying that. But at the same time, you realize that Mawile could have been seriously injured? In fact, given how… vulnerable a mawile's physiology is, it is entirely possible that you could have crippled your starter permanently. "

Red felt like he had been slapped. "But.."

"But _what?" _Oak stressed.

Red scowled, looking away. His right hand, that was slowly caressing Mawile, stilled. "I know. It was insanely stupid of me to go ahead with that. But the opponent—Ashley something —was using a new pokémon. She just started training it. She has this weird habit of resetting her team after every conference, so—"

"Resetting her team?" Delia looked stupefied. "As in… she builds an entirely new team every year?"

"I know right?" Red asked hopefully, ignoring the angry whispers in his mind and turning towards Oak. For some reason, prioritizing the old man over _her _seemed to work.

"The new pokémon was an ursaring," He continued speaking, "—and Mawile managed to win—"

He winced at the cold stares he was receiving "— which is how I got Skarmory... "

More staring.

"—and I'll just shut up now."

"A capital idea," Oak agreed. He turned to face Delia. "I was surprised when his trainer profile registered those promotions. I was a bit skeptical about it all, so I contacted Trainer Square for verification."

"Hang on, what are you blabbering on about?"

Oak shook his head, muttering about respect and teenagers. "Your trainer level isn't Low Rookie, but High."

"High Rookie?" Red asked, flabbergasted. "But how?"

From her looks, it seemed his mother was just as surprised as well.

"Huh, and I thought this was common knowledge. I really need to–– never mind. While it is _traditionally _the duties of the gyms to validate your trainer rankings, there are some private organizations that were recently allowed to assess trainer levels as well. The Trainer Square you frequented in Viridian is one such place. There's the Battle Tower in Cremini Town as well as the annual SS Anne Challenge. There are also some less-than-proper contests that are included. A rather quirky situation that should be addressed for sure but—"

Delia coughed.

"...Right," the professor paused, blushing slightly, "You must forgive me, I do tend to wander at times. Anyway, all these institutions get to validate and edit your trainer levels when you visit them."

"The Parthenon has the authority to do that too," Delia said irritatedly. "We can give him everything a trainer journey can and more."

Oak snorted at that. "Don't be so cross about it, Delia. And while I agree that little Red here," —the old man ignored the glare that Red sent him over the _little _comment— "has spent a significant amount of time attending to the ranch, he still needs some survival training before he can settle down in any career. Besides, if he sticks to the main routes, I'm sure he'd be just—"

"Are you sure you guys aren't overreacting?" Red asked, absently rubbing his forehead. "I'm a High-Rookie, so obviously I've proved I can survive out there, right?"

He could seriously do without these two bickering about security and instead allow him to spend some time with his team.

Or visit Mia for that matter.

And while he was at it, he should invest in some aspirin. The headache was returning with a vengeance.

"Being a High-Rookie means _nothing," _Delia shot back, "four out of ten Mid-Intermediates drop out of their trainer journeys. They choose a different profession or go back to technical school."

"Huh?" Red asked, befuddled. He tried _very hard _to not translate her words as a _lack of faith _in him. "Why would anyone do that?"

Willingly give up being a trainer and change professions? Return to school? It was absurd.

"Why would anyone in their right mind do that?"He repeated.

"Because not _everyone _has the proclivity or the inclination to become a soldier," Delia replied, her tone colder than he had seen her use so far. "No matter what people think, there is more to life than loitering around in forests and mountains."

"What— what do you mean?" Red questioned.

Delia on the other hand, remained silent and looked away.

Oak sighed. "That… That was a remarkably crude way to put it, Delia."

"I'm not wrong," Delia looked back unflinchingly.

The old man sighed again before turning to Red.

"You know how trainers are divided into three ranks—Rookie, Intermediate and Elite. And each rank is subdivided into the Low, Mid and High categories?"

Nod.

"Gym-leaders are official mandates that analyze a trainer's prowess through the '_gym-battle'," _he went on, using air-quotes to emphasize his point, "—and make appropriate changes to the trainer's levels. That is why each gym battle tends to be more difficult than the previous one."

"Like a training circuit?" Red offered.

Oak smiled. "Exactly. One that produces _strong _trainers, and just like any effective model, the circuit also, for lack of a better word, _weeds out _the weak ones. If a trainer doesn't reach a Mid-Intermediate rank within a year of travel, he is usually advised to change professions and settle for something... less glamorous, I suppose."

"Within a year…." Red mused, "I doubt this restriction holds back too many people."

"You'd be surprised," Oak's grin didn't reach his eyes, "By the time a trainer usually manages to win eight badges, he's usually ranked High-Intermediate. Competent trainers usually finish within a year and a half. Once you've achieved that, you are eligible to participate in either the Indigo or the Silver Conference— whichever comes first."

"I already knew about that Conference part. Though it sounds like you don't necessarily need to get all eight badges to participate in a conference."

"Well," Oak paused. "Some choose to get ranked through private organizations. Pokémon Tech is one such example. It isn't recommended though. The trainer journey teaches you a lot, and some jobs like explorers require over three years of experience in the field."

"Makes sense," Red mused before sighing deeply. Hearing about Pokémon Tech reminded him of a certain orangette— one who had become fast friends with. Someone who had lost her starter because of him. Someone who he had thought was dead.

"The gaps between trainer-levels get larger, the higher you go. The difference between Mid-Rookie and High-Rookie is negligible. but the difference for the Intermediate stage is much greater."

"Then for Elite Stage it must be—" Red began.

"A single High-Elite can usually defeat over ten Mid-Elite in consecutive battles, with a single team of six. Then again, a High-Elite trainer usually has several years of diligent training under his belt. I myself reached that level five years after I won my first Conference."

Red felt his jaw drop at that statement. "...Five years?"

"Well…" Oak shrugged, "I'll admit it's somewhat easier to reach that level nowadays, what with Move Tutors and TMs speeding the entire thing up. Orca took some fifteen months to move up from Flamethrower to Fire Blast. Today's trainers do that in five months or so."

"When you put it like that..." Red paused "It almost feels like we're cheating."

"Well, it kind of is," Oak grumbled, "but our traditional method had its advantages. Orca understood it, all by himself, learned how to manipulate it in terms of his own body, and then honed it to perfection. Today's generation simply imitates the same results. It's much faster to learn, but since it has been incubated through another pokémon's muscle memory, modifying the attack becomes incredibly difficult. But that's not the point. It took some trainers nearly a decade to reach that point. Even if it is flawed, today's trainers do it in—"

"I get it," he looked the old man in the eye. "Numerical superiority. Quantity over quality. You— _the League_, wanted more powerful trainers."

Oak looked at him for a long moment.

"Yes," The old man said slowly. "The league did. Now don't get me wrong, we had powerful trainers back in the day. Blaine and his magmortar were a nightmare. But it took time. You have no idea how many years it took Dragonite to get to her current level."

"You mean—"

Delia coughed.

"…"

"Anyway," Oak looked a tad embarrassed. "We can talk about this later. Now stop diverting the conversation." The man looked at him calmly almost as if he was the reason that he tended to go on tangents. "Now, what was I saying again?"

"You were talking about Elite trainers," Red said dryly, "but if _that _is the kind of trainer that fights at the Conference, what chance do the newbies have?"

Oak chortled at that. "If they were participating? None at all. But don't worry. A High-Elite doesn't fight at the Conference. Conferences are usually filled with High-Intermediate and perhaps borderline Elite trainers. People who have finished their gym-circuit."

"Oh!" Red allowed himself to feel slightly elated at that. The conversation was beginning to make him feel out of place. Like a little kid trying to survive in an adult world.

"So… what do these Elite trainers do? Do they challenge the Elite Four or the Champion or something?"

"Not exactly. You don't challenge the Elite Four. At all. The only position that one can contest for is the position of _Champion. _And even so, there are certain... conditions to fulfill before a High-Elite can try to challenge an existing Champion. Of course, that's only after the Champion's term completes."

"Conditions?" Red asked.

"Well, yes. Tactics and training can only take you so far. The requirement to challenge the champion… is a bit more esoteric. A wall that cannot easily be overcome." The old man paused, "You will find out, in time, should you reach that stage. Don't worry about it for now."

Red's eyes dilated slightly as he studied the man in front of him. He suspected that the old man was withholding something vital from him. It was unlikely that this had anything to do with the Chiron Brigade he had gotten to know during the Ranger visit, but something about it screamed familiar.

Then, his mind threw up another random bit of information. About the threats above Level 8 — something, the ranger had held back as classified information. Finally, his mental review threw up another oddity— a seemingly normal conversation he had had with Misty back in the forest. About the Blastoise using moves with power requirements, its body should not be able to provide. And about how such information was also restricted by the league.

It was almost like looking through a kaleidoscope that had suddenly come into focus. Pushing himself up a little straighter, he met the elder man in a direct stare. "Has this…Has this got something to do with moves that require power from… _somewhere else?"_

Oak looked at him for a long moment. "...somewhere else?

"Moves," Red went on, "like the _Hydro Cannon?"_

Oak had an inscrutable expression on his face. "I know that part of the blame does fall on me, but Red, I should tell you… you're dangerously well-informed about certain things."

Red blinked.

"Tell me Red," the old man spoke softly. "Instead of powerful moves, or dangerous moves or any other description, why did you call them _moves that require power from somewhere else_."

"..." Red tried to come up with a reason, but nothing came to his mind. His discussion with Misty only resulted in a bunch of contradictions that went against everything he had learned from the professor all his life.

"..."

"Nevermind," Oak muttered. "That's enough for now. Why don't you catch up with Mawile? You can meet the rest of your team, and Mia in a few hours."

"I suppose I should let—" Delia began, walking towards the man.

"Why don't you stay as well?" Oak countered, surprising the woman. "Spend some time with your son."

"But shouldn't you be—" Delia whispered back, glancing back at Red with something like concern on her face.

"He's still recovering, and he's admitted to having headaches. I think as his mother, you should stay here," Oak countered calmly, "I'll… get back soon."

"But—"

"I thought you wanted to be his friend," Oak chastised her, "get to know your son. Take this from someone that fell into the same pitfalls you did."

"Professor you—"

"_Delia_."

The woman opened her mouth to refute, but no words came out. Finally, she turned and glanced at Red's face. "Would you like me to stay?"

Another loaded question. Did he? Half of him wanted to agree wholeheartedly, while the other half felt repulsed with the suggestion.

Such a question should have an easy answer. And yet, he wasn't sure. What _did_ he want? He wanted to say that he wouldn't mind. Wasn't this what he always wanted as a kid? To have his mother stay with him, and give him her attention?

He looked up. Intending to give his consent, he met her gaze. But the moment their eyes met, something _exploded. _Memories of loneliness, feeling of being unwanted, feelings of inferiority, of neglect, of rejection, of abandonment, of—

He looked away. "Yeah, you can stay."

Delia had a perturbed expression on her face. If he didn't know better, he'd have assumed that she was feeling… _judged?_

_What right does she have to feel judged?_

The flame within him that had almost burned out, ignited once again.

_And now she comes in pretending that she's my loving mother and everything will be fine?_

The fire raged hotter and hotter. The flames flickered dangerously, and so did his emotions.

He fidgeted, baring his teeth. His head felt like it weighed a ton. His entire body was screaming for him to do something, to get away, to jump out of this bed and out of the window, away from her. If he wasn't so lost in trying to subdue it, he'd have recognized that he was shaking.

Literally.

His hands clenched the sheets and pulled them, slamming his fists over and over like a cornered wild animal.

"Red— what's wrong— what—" He could hear confused screams and whispers from all sides. He could hear surprised squeals from his starter. He could hear sounds of linen tearing and snapping and something metallic clink near him as two hands came closer and held his shoulders—

"No, don't—" He gnashed his teeth, and he locked eyes again.

And found himself staring at those eyes from the other side of a mist-covered window. Unlike Pallet Town, the Seafoam islands had absurd and paradoxical weather patterns. It was mid-august, and yet, it was windy, cold and snowing. He hadn't learned the word then, but he'd later learn to associate the word oxymoron with the Seafoam weather shifts. But currently, he was standing outside the window, peering into the house, listening to his mother and Aunt Ivy.

"_Why don't you talk to him about it?" Ivy was saying. "You cannot keep avoiding the question forever."_

"_And what am I going to tell him? That I don't—that I don't remember?"_

"_Delia," Ivy spoke sympathetically, "I understand what you might—"_

"_You don't, Felina!" Delia shot back. Even from her tone, it was clear that she was crying. "What am I going to tell him? That he reminds me of my own mistakes? That I fucked some guy who' I can't even remember and now I have to take care of a child?"_

"_Delia—"_

"_Don't Delia me," The woman continued, her voice filled with self-loathing, "you have no idea what the years have been to me. Every time I see him, I'm reminded of what happened to me. All my memories of that time are gone, Felina. This was basically rape! I— I didn't want a child, and I certainly didn't want to be a mother. I wanted to work and fulfill my passion. Instead, I got— I got this!"_

"_So is it Red's fault that it happened?" Ivy returned in a cold tone. "He's a child. It's obvious he'd want to—"_

"_I'm not blaming him. I know it's not his fault. But I give him whatever he needs. I've repeatedly asked him not to talk about his father,"—Delia spoke the last word venomously—''I know he deserves a father, and neither one of us deserves to be punished like this, but we don't always get what we want. We—"_

The rest of her words remained unheard, for the eavesdropper had stepped back from the mist-covered window, running away— far away from the house.

It didn't matter where he was running to. Even the snow beneath his feet seemed to get coarser and coarser as he panted. His vision started to black as his heart began to throb violently. His lungs screamed for air and his muscles strained, begging him to stop.

But he kept on running, and finally reached for the doorknob and opened—

"_Ah, Red, there you are! Where were you?"_

He gazed at the person in front of him blankly. Hadn't he just left her with Aunt Ivy? And yet, here she was, standing in her normal clothes instead of that formal lab coat, with a kitchen apron on. She smiled at him. "_I got something for you. You'll love it."_

"I—I will?" Red croaked, unsure about what to say. She had all but admitted that she didn't want him in her life, and now this—what the hell was happening? Was this another memory or—

_Wait._

He glanced down at the doorknob in his hand. He didn't know how, but he knew what was going to happen. He had been here before. He knew this room. He had walked upon this floor.

How did I get back to Pallet town? Red found himself wondering. Before he could come to a conclusion, Delia walked up to him. "_Do you not want to see it?"_

"Uh… sure?"

Delia beamed. "_Come with me."_

She held his hand and led him into the drawing-room. Flabbergasted, he dumbly followed. It was only when they reached the small tea-table that Red realized what it was.

_This… is another memory. _He realized. That was why it seemed so familiar. This was his ninth birthday.

The one…. The one that had proved just how little she knew her only son.

"_Well, what are you waiting for?" Delia grinned, shoving a rather large box into his hands, before proceeding to tear open the wrappers herself._

His mother could be rather impatient at times. Not that it made any difference. He _already _knew what was inside it. His mind was busy with something vastly more important.

_Why am I living in this memory? More importantly, how am I living this memory?_

"_Well, what do you think?" Delia asked, beaming at him._

Red sighed and glanced at the object of her fascination, the gift packed beneath the layers of colored paper.

A board-game.

More specifically, _the_ board-game. It had only been a few weeks since its launch, and was all over the TV and the papers. Everyone in school was talking about it. An elaborate treasure-quest built all across Kanto with awesome illustrations and quirky game rules.

The problem was, it needed six people to play it. And therein lay all the difference.

"_Mom, this is—" he began._

"_Awesome right?" She grinned. "Now you can play this with your friends. You can invite Gary home as well as the others. I am going out for some work, and will be back in—two weeks, I think."_

And that was what it was about. She was leaving, and this— this was a distraction.

Red chuckled mirthlessly. At that time, his mother hadn't known that he didn't have friends. After his debacle with Gary, he had ended up an antisocial recluse. The other kids at school tended to avoid him, and talk in whispers whenever he was around.

Was it a surprise that he hated going to school in those days? Studying at home and playing with Mia was far more enjoyable.

He looked down at the board game in his hand, and then glanced at the oblivious expression on her face even as his lips twisted into a smile. "Thank you. I should… go and get some of my friends to play with it."

Delia grinned. "_Enjoy!_

He nodded briskly, turning away from the woman that never understood him. There was nothing new under the sun. He had been through this— it was his memory after all. And yet—and yet—

_The pain feels just as fresh._

With calm, confident steps he walked out of the house, closing the gates softly as he escaped out of the garden. This was the time when Mia had evolved into a kirlia and had been _avoiding him _for some reason.

_At least she came back to me._

Ensuring that he was far enough, Red clenched the gift tightly, his nails digging into the cardboard encasing, contorting through it. He didn't know why he was experiencing these memories, or what sick bastard had him going through all of his worst experiences.

At this point, after all that he had seen, all that he had felt, all that he knew he _would feel—_

Red screamed, rage and frustration brimming out of him, as he tore through the box. The board game twisted and turned before his fingers cleaved it into two, and then again, and then again, and again. From the very start— ever since this perverse game of memories had begun, he had been feeling all sorts of emotions.

He had felt lonely like never before.

Feelings of unwantedness and neglect consumed him.

Anger at his mother's rejection, her own admission about her _true _feelings for him as well as her lack of interest and knowledge in her son's life— all of it had cut deep gashes into the armor of indifference he had built around himself. He had thought that he had grown past it, that he had learned to ignore it, to be happy _despite _it.

What he hadn't known was that it was just a potion waiting to explode.

And it did.

And what came next was anger. Primeval, mindless rage that threatened to destroy everything, even the very mind and heart of its own origin. It rushed in to destroy the walls Red was trying to build to block the pain, and destroy them it did with extreme prejudice. No matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to ignore them, the emotions kept flooding in. Madness ensued, and Red found himself drowning in a sea of emotional turmoil.

_Is this really worth it?_

Red suffocated—or was it his own hands trying to choke his own neck? He didn't know. It didn't matter.

_You can just step outside. Close the door on all those dreadful things that happened. You can lock them away._

_Forever._

And wasn't that an alluring prospect? It was appealing at the very least. Complete detachment from those that hurt him. It would feel… _odd, _but the pain would be gone. He'd be away—far away from _her, _beyond her reach. She wouldn't be able to harm him there. And yet, if he did it, he'd lose whatever he was. He wouldn't be Red. He wouldn't have Mawile demanding poképuffs. He wouldn't have Shellder sucking on his hairs. Skarmory and her protectiveness. Oak and his friendship. Kaz and his eccentricities. And Mia.

_Mia._

He didn't know why, but something stirred in the darkness as he thought of her.

And he stood up.

He'd not give up. Not for this pain from the past. Not out of fear for the future. But he would not give up.

He would embrace it.

He would suffer it.

And he would overcome it.

_For h_is team. For Mia.

_Fuck it! _Red cursed with as much vindication as he could muster. _Do your worst!_

_**With pleasure.**_

The incoming barrage threatened to overwhelm and overload his senses. Another memory—him being picked upon Gary—him suffering from a wound and trying to heal it by himself—him trying to emulate his mother by noticing interesting things and reporting them to her—

The memories came and went. But the more it hurt, the more he reminded himself that this was not _real. _This was a _dream. _A nightmare. He would survive, and he would thrive. But the more the endless loops continued, the more he could feel himself becoming _less._

_This is it. This is the end._

It hurt to think, and yet, those thoughts had incredible clarity. His situation was so eerily familiar with the way it had ended in the forest. He had nearly gotten his team killed by his stupidity, and now he was being _erased _by a past far more traumatic than he ever remembered it being.

There was no going back. All he could do was be overwhelmed as his mind played his worst memories in a continuous loop.

And each time he saw them, it felt even _worse. _He felt afraid of closing his eyes. As if closing them would throw him into the darkness of another infringement of sorrow upon his life, another memory, another trauma he had experienced but had chosen to forget.

The memories—those vile, repulsive brutes—they kept bombarding against him. One after another, and then another, and so on. Every time he thought he had seen the worst, something even more _sinister _would rise up to correct his ignorance.

He had no head. And yet, it moved in denial.

He had no eyes. And yet, they stared back in defiance.

He would break, but he would not bend.

Not to this.

And then it happened.

His heart began to throb violently, the dull humming slowly turning louder and louder, as a growing sense of unease led to one of mounting dread and _terror. _He shut his eyes tightly and tried to ignore it, but every inch of his body could tell that _something was coming. _Something unnatural. A new and frightening uncertainty that was alien and taboo and wrong and above all, beyond Red's own understanding.

"Get out!" He cursed.

It only drew nearer.

"Get out!" He repeated.

And nearer.

Was it coming from outside him, around him, or _inside him? _He didn't know. He didn't want to know. The growing sound of his own heart throbbing was only getting louder.

"_GET OUT!"_

But that would not be. Instead, his vision was filled with light— burning, dazzling, bright, white light.

His eyes seared with pain as he was bombarded with memories that ripped through his mind. Uncountable and endless, they continued over and over again in an eternal loop, forcing him to view them without pause or reprieve.

And they simply would not stop.

Slowly, Red began to change.

The memories themselves were clear, but the feelings associated with them began to fade.

He still cared, intellectually, but emotionally he was… _less._

The pain, the sorrow, and the solitude were still there, but he viewed them as if they were someone else's, the memories themselves were beginning to feel as if they were being viewed through a television screen.

How long had it been? His perception of time was long gone.

He had thought that he could beat whatever this was. Come out on top and win.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

This nightmare never ended and would rage on. A never-ending loop, cursed to go on forever and ever. And he'd be trapped inside it. An endless stream of negativity gnawing through his sanity until there'd be nothing left.

And something inside Red _broke._

Something fundamental.

Something… that was once part of the existence known as Red Ketchum.

Something that _burned._

And throughout it all, Red continued to watch, the memories continuing to cycle endlessly. And yet the anger had burnt away. The sorrow, the resentment, and the solitude had vanished.

All that remained was—

_Nothing._

* * *

  
**Pewter City Gym**

"_Brock, there is something you must know."_

Brock Pebblemann frowned at the document laying inconspicuously on his desk.

For a clan-leader originating from a place as insular as Pewter, Brock was far too familiar with the outside world. He had embraced it with open arms. Tried to become a part of it, and ensure that the latest generation of his tribe would experience the same.

That was why he was so supportive of Pewter City— a technological behemoth carved out of the mountainous fortress that the Kush tribe— his people —called home.

Come to think of it, things had been changing for Pewter. It had been fifteen years since his grandfather had gotten the tribe into profitable negotiations with the Kanto government.

Nine years since the original excavation unit had grown into a sprawling estate that was the archaeological haven of Pewter.

Five years since Brock had been appointed _dhrutinaz—_the clan leader of his folk —and had accepted Lance's proposal. Pewter City now had a _Gym—_babysitting rookie trainers and giving them… pointers.

Not that he believed himself unfit for the job— far from it —but the archaeologist and clan-leader had never been able to fight off this odd sensation that things were happening too soon and too fast. Brock tended to push back whenever life pushed him forward. He did not enjoy going out of his comfort zone.

The present situation was similar, only this time, he'd be unable to push back.

Literally.

It presented a glorious opportunity, one that could serve as the ladder for Pewter's meteoric rise in the world, but at the same time, it could destroy _everything_ that he and his ancestors had strived for over generations.

_Damn it, Lance._

It had all started with that discussion he had had with the Champion two weeks ago.

"_The Parthenon conducted an expedition in the Tanoby Ruins two years ago. It led to some… interesting discoveries. They found some fossilized remains of what they assume to be an ancient creature, and have been studying it ever since."_

"_At the Mt. Hideaway facility, I presume?"_

_The man laughed. "I have no idea. The Parthenon has seven branches in Kanto-Johto mainland, and even more so, spread out on other continents. I myself am not privy to the fossil's present location."_

"_You're the Champion."_

_Another laugh. "Let's not go into the what and why's of bureaucracy. What you need to know is that there have been some new_ _developments regarding the fossil. Reports from the Parthenon state that they have finally purified enough_… _genetic samples to attempt a resurrection."_

From what he had been told, the genetic sample would be teleported to the museum—a location that housed one of the cutting-edge technologies in the world —sometime on Saturday.

The resurrection of an extinct pokémon species from some of its preserved genetic makeup.

It was almost funny that such cutting-edge technology, developed through a joint operation between Silph Co. and Devon Corp, had found its base in Pewter— a place that had been in a subsidiary alliance with the rest of Kanto, until a decade ago. Well, Hoenn too did have its own installation setup in Rustboro City but that was beside the point.

"_A_… _resurrection." Brock frowned, as if tasting the word. "Are you sure? A revived extinct pokémon is always nasty business. I don't need to remind you what happened when Aerodactyl went loose."_

_Lance chortled. "I know. She's been giving me some serious trouble, even now. You'd think a Champion's team would be able to keep her grounded, but she's too… feisty. Too primal. Kind of like your resident deity Kuku…wan?"_

_Brock's eye twitched. "Kukulkan."_

"_Ah, yes," Lance had the decency to look sheepish, "No disrespect intended."_

"_I did not take any," Brock responded calmly. "Outsider's need not follow our customs."_

"_Ah, well…" Lance said awkwardly. "Anyway, resurrections tend to be incomplete. I can only imagine what Aerodactyl might have been, back during her time."_

_Brock frowned. "A resurrection is always exciting. But what's so special about this one?"_

"_The fossil in question is… special."_

"_Special? How?"_

" _Do you remember the recent breakthroughs in medical technology," Lance asked, abruptly changing the topic._

"_Of course," Brock frowned. "It's been all over the news. Ditto cell therapy, right?"_

"_Well that's the official stance," Lance agreed._

_Brock leaned forward, interested. "And the unofficial stance?"_

"_Ditto cells are great. They can turn into nearly anything with the right stimulant. But they are not stable. They revert back to their original form the minute they run out of energy."_

"_So, what was the breakthrough?" Brock asked. He really wished Lance would just get to the point._

_The fossil..." Lance paused dramatically, " The fossil seems to be related to ditto."_

_Brock sighed. Apparently the Champion wouldn't just tell him._

"_Alright," He muttered," So it's some kind of ancient ditto."_

"_Better," Lance grinned. "It's some kind of precursor to the original ditto-line. Just studying the remains advanced our medical industry by fifty years."_

"_If it's so valuable, then why are you risking the sample in a resurrection attempt? You must know that there is a possibility of failure."_

"_It is risky," Lance admitted. "But we've reached the limit of what we can learn from the fossil. The scientists predict that the ditto-precursor, if successfully resurrected, will generate an infinite supply of such cells."_

_The champion stood up, spreading his arms theatrically. "Regeneration of limbs. Regrowth of organs. Perfect cellular regeneration. This could revolutionize our society."_

"_It cannot be that drastic," Brock argued._

"_You still don't understand," Lance's eyes were shining, the excitement practically oozing off the man. "Scientists have determined that the fossil is over a million years old. And do you know what they found when they opened the fossil?"_

_The remains of the precursor ditto?"_

"_Yes," Lance agreed. "The remains of the precursor ditto. Alive."_

"_A-Alive? That's impossible. A cell cannot survive for that long. Even rock-types—" Brock stood up from his chair, losing his composure for the first time since the meeting started."To survive that long. That— Such knowledge would change everything."_

"_Exactly," Lance confirmed. "And that, my friend, is why this is such a big deal."_

And it was a big deal.

Brock was no doctor but even he could see the value of such a thing.

While normal cells stopped dividing after a certain number, cancerous cells could theoretically keep on dividing into offsprings for an indefinite period of time. Ditto-cells incorporated the biological-immortality of cancerous cells, along with an extremely powerful and rapid ability to differentiate into any other cell type. The problem with ditto cells was that this transformation required an immense amount of energy to maintain, without which it would revert back into ditto. Problems that this new finding apparently did not have.

Furthermore, cells require energy to maintain their existence. Energy that was usually derived from food.

Not something that would be present inside a fossil. Certainly not when said fossil was over a million years old.

Which left a simple but _terrifying _conclusion...

Unless of course, he was looking at it the wrong way. In which case he might as well give up.

But...

But if he was right…

If _Lance _was right, if the Parthenon was correct in its claims, then this… this was going to blow minds.

"_Are you telling me that the Parthenon excavated a Legendary?"_

"_A Legendary?" Lance pursed his lips. "I think not. We would not run the risk of resurrecting it if it was. But this creature… it is definitely not ordinary. At the very least, its capability to survive is beyond anything we have seen before."_

_Brock bit his lip. "What are they… calling this… creature?"_

"_Well," Lance drawled "The scientists came up with several names, but they settled with the ancient hieroglyphic symbol for fluidity. For change."_

"_Change… MU?" Brock chuckled. "It does fit, in its own way. Ditto is transfiguration-incarnate. Fluidity given form. It suits it perfectly."_

"_I'm sure the scientists at the facility will feel validated by your approval."_

And that was it.

Mu.

An ancient symbol representing fluidity and change. And this creature of antiquity was going to be resurrected in a public event.

In the presence of VVIPs from all across the world.

Inside his city.

Did Lance not understand the target it painted on Pewter? That Pewter which had only started treading upon the path to a better life? That Pewter that he called his home— the place where he was adorned and obeyed as the current _dhrutinaz?_

Of course, the Champion did. But in his words, _he had Brock as Gym-leader for that. _Also, the researchers at the Parthenon had gotten a little worried about it all. There was reasonable intelligence on Team Rocket planning something about it.

He had made sure to show his displeasure with the entire plan to the Champion. And in turn, he had received a taste of the anarchic and byzantine mind of the man that ruled the continent.

"_Let me get this straight." Brock began incredulously "You are using the invitees as a shield to ensure that the resurrection goes through flawlessly?"_

_Lance smirked. "I suppose it is the dragon-master in me that has a flair for the dramatic."_

_Snapping his hand forward with a quick flourish, he handed a sheet of paper to the Pewter gym-leader. One that had NOT been in his hand a moment ago._

"_Where did that—" Brock closed his eyes, before starting again. No need to get swept up in the other man's pace. He slowly scanned the document, which turned out to be a list of people invited for the event. Very important people._

"_And how," Brock swallowed, the invitation list showing him just how seriously the league was taking the event. "How did you manage to get all these… dignitaries to attend this event? And without even telling them what was going to happen."_

_Lance smirked. "Professor Oak and I came to a… agreement over something."_

And that was it.

Apparently, Samuel Oak had used a little _authority _to wrestle the ownership of the experimental hybrid the rangers had rescued from the burning forest. As of now, the teen— Red something —was going to be its handler.

And in turn, the Champion, in his own typical fashion, had managed to make the esteemed researcher make a move.

Brock glanced at the envelope on his desk and chuckled. It was a parting joke from the Champion— a letter addressed from Samuel J. Oak, inviting Brock Pebblemann to the event held at the Pewter Museum of Natural History.

Very few people on the planet would have the bravado to send out last-minute invitations that essentially read—_Sunday evening. Be there. Trust Me. _And even fewer would be able to persuade VVIP's, eminent researchers and politicians at the highest levels from all over the world to drop everything and rush to Pewter City to attend the event.

The _sad _part was, it would even work.

Arrangements would need to be made, and then the resurrection process would happen as a public event, in front of the world media. Brock had assigned himself, two temporary secretaries, just to deal with the relentlessly increasing paperwork. The Champion had already dispatched four ACE squads for security, and the police had been put on high alert. He should probably bring in the ranger squads to patrol the outer gates of the city.

Speaking of which...

He picked up the receiver and dialed a number. "Zinnia? Please send for Ranger Tyson." Without further delay, he dropped the receiver and pulled up a folder that was sitting inside his drawer. He had procrastinated about the issue long enough, and it was time he dealt with the situation.

_Especially in the light of…._

"Gym leader?"

"Ah, come in," Brock replied blithely, as Tyson stepped into the chamber. "I went through the report."

Tyson wiped off the half-afflicted expression on his face, taking the seat on the other side, "I can accept that it was my foolishness that caused this—"

"Nonsense," Brock waved it away as inconsequential, "Whatever happened was terrible but there's nothing to be gained by pointing fingers. Have your units managed to recover any information from this entire mess?"

"We did." Tyson had a dark look on his face. "From the constant feeds we received from the investigating troops, there was a hidden base in the middle of the forest. Optical illusions were used to keep it out of sight. Our troops were able to provide us with very little details before the—" Tyson breathed, "—explosion."

"What sort of details?"

"The facility was mostly cleaned out, so they expected our arrival—"

"And set a trap," Brock concluded, "How many did we lose?"

Tyson winced. "Fifteen sir. Fifteen of our best.

Brock gently rested his head in the palms of his hands and paused a long moment before responding. "Make sure to compensate their families. Make a list of their families too. I will go visit them and apologize, in person."

"It's not your fault, sir," Tyson said softly. "And the families may not receive you well."

"Nonetheless," Brock said firmly, "I will meet them. We are part of Kanto now, but the tribes of Pewter will always be my people. I will take care of them, and if I am unable too, I will mourn them. It is my familial duty and becoming a Gym-Leader has not changed that."

"I… I see."

"I don't expect you to understand," Brock sighed. "Anyway, the facility. It was probably being used to create these experimental hybrids. Speaking of which that growlithe—"

Tyson perked up at that.

"—will be handled by Professor Oak and anyone he might deem fit," he finished, pausing as he observed the somewhat bitter expression on the ranger's face. "Do you have a problem with that, Tyson?"

"Not… particularly," Tyson measured his words, "just wondering about the intelligence of such a decision. I've met the teen in question. He is a good kid, but he is not qualified to hold a specimen of such value."

"The Champion has approved of that decision. That's all there is to say, I believe."

Tyson nodded silently and stood up from his chair. "There isn't. What about the other pokémon caught in the forest?"

"The scyther technically belongs to Red Ketchum and while charges of manslaughter may be brought up, the person in question was a terrorist. As for the golem… I'll see if it can be trained to serve the ranger squad."

"And your orders about the event? Do we continue to keep it under wraps or pursue further investigations?"

"I'd normally be in favor of an investigation but certain issues have forced my hand. There's an upcoming event and I need Pewter City secure. I need all available personnel. Arrange for a meeting with your entire group in the next two hours. I'll address everyone shortly. That will be all."

Tyson stood ramrod straight and saluted. "Sir."

* * *

  
His eyes snapped open.

The first thing he noticed was the cold sweat covering his body. His heart was pounding like crazy and his body was frozen stiff— stunned in fear. Fear of—

Red scrunched his face. Fear of what? He didn't remember. Almost like it wasn't important.

He maintained his stiff posture for a while, feeling no true desire to get up.

_I know this place. I've been here before._

The feeling of familiarity and recognition seemed to stem from some unused sixth sense. How said senses worked, he had no idea. But he knew they did.

And that led to a different thought.

_Is this a memory?_

He looked around, trying to ignore the overwhelming sense of deja-vu that the room seemed to emanate. The bed, the linen sheets, the covers, the blinding white ceiling— all he was missing was Mawile rubbing her head against his shirt and he'd—

_Mawile._

And with that recognition, came another.

_This is the hospital room. I was here. I have walked on this floor. I have slept in this bed. I have—_

_I have been here, before it all started._

Yes, that seemed like it. And from the looks of it, the room was empty. How much time had passed before he had been sucked in? Minutes? Hours?

...

_Years?_

Had he fallen into another comatose state only to break out after a long time? He had heard of patients staying comatose for years before they gained consciousness.

This was a dangerous thought process. Almost instinctively, his hands rose up and cupped his face.

No beard. Just the same roguish, disheveled stubble that had begun to take form.

_Days then. _He decided. But even so, where was everyone?

He looked down on his lap. He was wearing the same orange shirt with black stripes. There was a glass of water—

Half-full. Just like he had left it.

_Hours. _He deduced. Not comatose then. But if so, where was everyone? Why wasn't the old man, Mawile or his mother there? Had he fallen asleep on them?

_Or is this some kind of dream?_

The curious thought flitted around his mind. But he rejected it even as it came forth. The mental violation was too real, too _personal _for it to simply be a dream.

Not that it mattered now. Somewhere in the endless loop of memories, he had grown _used _to it. He had grown detached.

It was almost boring.

And now this.

_At least this is a change._

It was almost funny. After everything he had been through, even this sudden change in scenery was reminding him of his memories. Frankly, he was almost sure that a little bit of poking around would send him tumbling into another infinite loop all over again.

Pessimistic?

Perhaps, but just because you're paranoid didn't mean there wasn't an invisible monster out there ready to eat your face.

It wasn't a comforting thought. Red decided he liked it.

"Let me see…" He heard himself speak. It was so strange, being so calm. He had screamed and screamed until he had become nothing. He had cried in agonizing pain and felt himself being constructed and deconstructed several times over. He had felt his mind shatter and reform endlessly.

And yet after every reformation, there was more pain to deal with.

And now he felt nothing.

A slow grin appeared on his face as he touched his shirt.

Warm.

The covers were the same.

Mawile had been here, and yet she wasn't.

_Interesting._

He pushed the covers away from himself and dragged himself out of the bed to stand on his shaky legs. No surprises there, considering how he had literally fallen face-first when trying to get to the bathroom without his crutch. Injuries like the one on his back took a while to heal and—

Wait a minute.

He glanced downwards.

_Not shaking._

"Very interesting," he murmured. The pain on his back was suspiciously absent. As was the constantly throbbing headache that had overwhelmed him. In fact, the only thing that could be remotely qualified as _emotion _was confusion. The strangeness of the situation, his trauma from the infinite memory-loop, the endless waves of negative thoughts trying to rip his sanity to threads—

There was no trace of them.

"How very strange," He whispered.

He took an unsteady step forward, trying to test his balance. His knees held, and he quickly covered the distance. The doorknob now cupped within his palm, he looked back at the room.

Empty. Apart from the bed, the glass and the table on the other side, there was nothing in it. He glanced at the clock.

11:58 AM.

Visitors were allowed from nine to five. Oak had been there some thirty minutes after that. His mother had shown up after… an hour or something. So why wasn't anyone here?

Bewildered, Red twisted the doorknob and opened the door.

_The hell?_

The entire corridor was empty. No sign of life anywhere. All the doors were closed, and that reminded him—

_This is the first time I stepped outside the door. Pewter City General Hospital, I think._

"Hello?" He called out.

No answer.

Without further thought, he sauntered along the corridor. His footsteps echoed throughout the empty halls. There were sounds of water dripping somewhere, creating a hollow dripping noise that was impossible to ignore.

Red kept walking, and yet he wasn't getting anywhere. Not that he knew how to get anywhere but that was beside the point.

The walls themselves seemed to shift whenever he turned past a corridor—and after every one he crossed, there was always another. Several doors, long corridors, arched hallways, and thin soulless spaces, offering nothing but random dead ends with closed doors that didn't open no matter what he did.

Red's lip curled.

_Interesting_. He thought again. He had already noticed a feeling of innate wrongness well up within him as well as fear. But those emotions seemed to be… disconnected to him. He knew he was feeling them intellectually, and yet he was not experiencing them. Feeling them.

_How strange._

There were rooms with lights on.

The heaters were running.

Some of the tables had coffee cups that were still hot— as evidenced by the tiny wisps of smoke coming out of it.

There was even a match running on the large screen. An old match— the Elite Four Karen versus an elite trainer from Johto..

He moved faster. It was strange. The entire place _screamed _human, and yet, there were none.

He banged open doors, broke into rooms, and in every single one, he found several doors which led to newer and newer corridors. The doors creaked upon application of force, but nothing was more damning than the looming emptiness all around.

The entire place was open, and yet there was not a single person to be found.

He had traveled so far, and yet he could not find the exit.

_How interesting,_ Red's lip curled.

_Truly a prison without locks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	21. Act 2 - Dust of Dreams | Chapter 4 - Crossroads of Twilight

_Existence has a purpose. Always.  
  
Anger cannot exist without cause or recipient.  
  
Sorrow cannot be comprehended without joy, nor can apathy be appreciated without attachment.  
  
Emotion has meaning— both cause and effect.  
  
Anger. Contempt. Frustration. Envy. Apathy. Fear.  
  
All such qualities existed within it.  
  
But the primary emotion it felt was despair.  
  
Despair— To be without hope.  
  
A concept that assumes its opposite— hope or ideals —must also exist. It is only when the assumed hope is lost and inverted that despair can be birthed. Therefore it is always a secondary concept, one which none carry when first born into this world.  
  
One can also describe despair as the potential energy released when falling from the heights one has obtained. Its quantity equals the difference, which is to say it is predetermined by how high one's hopes or lofty one's ideals are.  
  
The more blinding one's hope, the denser and vaster the darkness of despair that follows its loss.  
  
And yet her despair existed without cause, without reason.  
  
Without hope or ideal.  
  
Isn't that unfair?_

* * *

In the beginning, there was just a little blob.  
  
Humans are known for their propensity to _color _everything. Their bodies, their houses, their dens, their lives, their beliefs…  
  
Considering its origins, it was only fitting that _it_ was colored as well.  
  
It had no name but it liked to think of itself as _Dark._ Dark like sedimented blood. Dark like the blackness of the night sky.  
  
Dark like a growing pit of despair.  
  
Dark like the emotions of the nine-year-old human that led to its creation.  
  
And it was this darkness that gave it purpose for its existence.  
  
A creation, an entity, a blob of the deepest, darkest emotions originating from the bottomless trenches of the human mind and soul. Born through the foolishness of an empathic creature that should have known better than to ignore her instincts. Sustained from the emotional pain of a humanling whose sorrows the empathic creature could not look away from. Given form by the creature's own sense of _right _and _wrong._  
  
And thus, it was born.  
  
Unlike a human whose concept of emotion was closely tied to memory or impression, a kirlia dealt with such differently. For a kirlia, emotion was a quantifiable object. It had _objective _value and meaning to it. She could comprehend _feeling happy _without anything occurring to cause said happiness. For a kirlia, emotions, or rather, positive emotions were sustenance.  
  
And negative emotions, by the same rule, were a little short of poison. Uncomfortable in small doses, and potentially lethal in larger amounts.  
  
And as such, the sweet innocent kirlia decided to do the _safe _thing. The makeshift bond, created as a solution for her problems, worked precisely the way she wanted it to. Despite his apparent youth, the humanling was a growing pit of darkness. Darkness that the kirlia had to leach out before she could _pour _happiness in its place.  
  
And what better place to dump it all than the unused, deep, dark trenches of her mind?  
  
And so she did.  
  
First came an unwavering sense of unwantedness. But unlike the gardevoir-line, human emotions were subjective. They latched onto meanings, to essences, to thoughts and memories.  
  
The loneliness, for example, latched onto the memories of a child waiting for his mother to come home. Unfilled wishes and hopes for the bonding between parent and offspring. Fumes of rejection upon having his dreams shattered.  
  
Then came an overwhelming sense of frustration. His dreams had been crushed yet his spirit was still strong. He knew his mother would not see him for himself. Thus, he did his best to mold himself to fit in a way to make himself appealing. To make himself identifiable. He molded himself like his mother.  
  
And still, they fell short before her apathy.  
  
Frustration turned into a twisted acceptance of defeat.  
  
Acceptance allowed loathing to crawl in.  
  
Loathing led to resentment and scorn.  
  
The kirlia shoved it all away. Allowed the riptide to condense into a vortex of tumultuous, turbulent mixture of feelings. The memories and thoughts were _indigestible, _so she pushed them into the churning meshwork as well. The mind of a psychic, and the esoteric _links _of a fairy was a nutritious matrix for the blob to feed. To grow.  
  
To thrive.  
  
And so it did.  
  
Had she known what she had been doing, perhaps she would have chosen to stay by her instincts. The same instincts that had warned her from getting close to her human _friend. _The same instincts she suppressed to be with Red.  
  
The instincts that the blob later seeped into, and corrupted into its own extension.  
  
Instincts that would be replaced by dark, crimson tendrils rising out of her mindscape, twisting into her very thoughts and emotions.  
  
Instincts that would tell her that _suffering was sweet._

* * *

_Red will save me._  
  
Mia repeated the words to herself, again and again, the thought her only solace in this hellish space. It could have been hours, it could have been years— deep within her mindscape, _time _had already lost meaning. The dark-crimson tendrils that had risen from the ground kept her chained and bound, a prisoner of her own mind.  
  
_You will not break me._  
  
Kirlia were not known for their rationality. As something that fed off _emotion, _a kirlia's commitments to anything was dependent on the emotions that were provided. As long as their associate stayed happy, they were happy. But the moment misfortune struck them, a kirlia wouldn't think twice before deserting her trainer.  
  
There was a reason why humans didn't bother with the capturing or training of the gardevoir line. Its _selfish _nature was well-documented in human history after all.  
  
It wasn't shallow. It was simply their nature.  
  
Happiness attracted them, made them dance around it like a ribombie. Sadness similarly, drove them away. It was instinctual, driving them on the most primal levels. Rationality was an alien concept to them, and the concept of emotional bonds would probably be thought of as naive. Kirlia fed on emotions. To hope that something like that would _act _on emotions was foolishness at best.  
  
A tauros didn't _feel _for the grass beneath its hooves.  
  
But she wasn't just a kirlia. After all, like Red had said, she was _Mia._  
  
And if Mia wasn't a kirlia, then what right did the instincts of a kirlia have to judge what Mia could, or couldn't have?  
  
It had been so simple.  
  
Back then, she had no idea what she was doing. She had no clue what it was that she was _tinkering _with. A human mind processed emotions the _human _way. Emotions lingered to memories. To thoughts. They weren't objective_. _They weren't _sustenance._  
  
For her, it was simply a case of identifying what was food and what wasn't. For a human, it was far deeper. And in tinkering with it, she had conceived this impossibility. This _blob._  
  
Back then, she had been only too happy to dump it somewhere in the eternal darkness of her mindscape, never to see it again. For all intents and purposes, it was _garbage. _Then Red had deserted her for that _other _fairy, and left for his journey. _Without her._  
  
The initial days had been somewhat uncomfortable, but as time passed, she had begun to sense the unnaturalness of the situation. She had begun to _miss _Red, miss his presence, miss the feeling of having her happiness pushed into the bond.  
  
She missed making him happy.  
  
She missed dragging his sadness out.  
  
And dare she say it, she missed _feeling _all that negativity he experienced.  
  
It was almost like a drug. And Mia wanted more of it.  
  
She had tried several alternatives. She visited places Red used to frequent. It didn't work. She played her own memories of Red in her mind. It didn't work. She tried pushing happiness into the bond.  
  
It didn't work.  
  
And with the growing frustration, came a growing sense of _anxiety, _of _need._  
  
Of _Hunger._  
  
Mia couldn't help herself, and thus, she turned to the one thing she'd never have considered otherwise.  
  
The _garbage_.  
  
The swirling mass of twisted, negative emotions. Memories, sorrow, darkness. It was repulsive and scary and poisonous, but like any addict, Mia knew better.  
  
She always knew better.  
  
So she welcomed it.  
  
Welcomed the very antithesis of what defined a kirlia.  
  
Welcomed the abomination that should have been an impossibility from the very beginning.  
  
Welcomed something that despite being a product of Red's darkest thoughts, had been nourished and nurtured by her own mindscape.  
  
With open arms.  
  
And Red, with all his sorrow, all his fears, all of his deepest, darkest secrets…  
  
He flowed into her.  
  
It was… _sublime._  
  
It was like him being back all over again. Like Time had frozen over, and allowed that one peaceful moment to loop _forever_.  
  
Mia had never felt that ecstasy before.  
  
She never noticed the dark crimson tendrils slowly growing from her mindscape.  
  
She never noticed them until it was way too late.  
  
If only she had….  
  
_**Having second thoughts? Nostalgia is a good way to ignore one's problems. Apparently it's a human thing. Keeps oneself deluded and able to forget the pain.**_  
  
Mia scrunched up her face. Her body was immobile as ever, and the blob was back. Only this time she appeared in full glory, a twisted image of a Kirlia— dark violet hair replacing the usual bright green, and the skirt made entirely of flickering shadows.  
  
Mia wondered why the blob chose to imitate her. Perhaps it was trying to prove itself better than her? A cheap imitation trying to outscore the original, except…  
  
Except…  
  
Except for that strange inversion of shades and the black theme. A part of her couldn't help but admit that this new color theme looked far more _appealing _than her present self.  
  
…  
  
…  
  
Mia hated how her own mind had begun to betray her.  
  
The blob— the _other _Mia —laughed.  
  
_**Even one's own emotions can turn traitor. To oneself. The heart works in mysterious ways.**_  
  
It paused for a moment, as if considering its words.  
  
_**Or so I'm told.**_  
  
Mia hated the childishly gleeful tone that this abomination chose to take. She would have turned away, not wanting to continue to stare at the mimicry in front of her.  
  
Unfortunately, that choice was not hers to make. Lacking control over her own body, all she could do was wait till it got bored of tormenting her.  
  
Until then she could do _nothing_.  
  
_**You know… all of this could have been much easier. Much… smoother. If only you had been a bit more cooperative.**  
  
Why tie me up if all you wanted is to talk? _Mia thought ruefully.  
  
The tendrils over her mouth loosened and crawled away, as did the ones on her waist. Almost mechanically, Mia was pushed upward into a _sitting _posture, the entirety of her legs and waist sunk beneath the crimson matrix surrounding her.  
  
_**Better?**_  
  
"This place is… gross." Mia mumbled distastefully. "Obviously you are very different from me, if this is your idea of a nice place to talk. This is worse than growlithe dung!"  
  
The imitation smiled, its demeanor was almost like a queen stepping into her throne room. She had vague memories of elder Gardevoir— the mothers that bonded to the rest —behaving as such back when she lived amidst the cherry-blossoms.  
  
Mia cast a wary glance at the tendrils writing in the liquid, knowing very well that _those _things could kill her in a heartbeat if the imitation wanted them to do so, before looking back at the creature in front of her.  
  
"So what do you want to… talk about?"  
  
_**You are needlessly antagonistic towards me. You might despise me, but I am born of you. This mindscape… it churned me out. It enriched me, nourished me.**_  
  
It smiled, a veneer of civility on its face. It was almost beautiful.  
  
_**You are my mother, after all.**_  
  
Mia did not respond.  
  
_**The last thing I want is to hurt you. I tried to put you to sleep, but you fought me. I did everything I could to not hurt you.  
  
And yet you still keep fighting me.**_  
  
Mia felt the single thread— the one that connected her to Red— pulse powerfully a second time.  
  
_Any time now.  
  
**All I need is your help with a very simple thing. An extremely important, but simple thing.**_  
  
"So this talk… is a way to convince me?" Mia frowned.  
  
_**Is it working? **_The imitation seemed upbeat. _**If not, I'll have to force you to do my bidding. I'm sorry.**_  
  
It certainly didn't sound apologetic.  
  
"You'll _try._" She didn't know why, but with every passing moment, she felt her confidence increase. Perhaps it was because she was not bound anymore.  
  
She glanced at her lower body.  
  
Well… not completely bound anyway.  
  
At least she knew that Red was responding. He'd be there soon.  
  
_Red will save me. I just…. I just have to last till then.  
  
**This is my world. **_The imitation spread her arms outward. _**I control everything here. Nothing escapes my vision. Not even that delirious thought that Red will come and save you.**_  
  
And just like that, the facade of composure drained from Mia's face.  
  
_**Yes, Red is coming for you. You got that bit right. **_The imitation went on gleefully, almost like a little girl boasting about a newly-acquired toy.  
  
_**What? Did you think that it was a random chance that allowed you to connect with him? An opportunity perhaps, from the one you care for?**_  
  
Its smirk deepened.  
  
_**You cannot fight my will. Try as you might, you will find no victory here. I am the future. The culmination of your innocence and Red's darkness. You may resist if you please, but brute force and stubbornness cannot alter destiny.**_  
  
"So I should just give up? To a thing like you?" Mia spat, tilting her head slightly to glance at the surrounding tendrils. "I refuse to die like this. Red _will _save me."  
  
_**Perhaps.**_  
  
For some reason, the thoughtful look upon the imitation's face failed to bring her any form of reassurance.  
  
_**But then again, I don't want you to die in the first place. No, Red can save you as much as he likes.**_  
  
"But you said—"  
  
_**The question is though…. **_The imitation trailed off maliciously. _**How will he save himself?**_  
  
"What…. What do you mean?" Mia's eyes widened fearfully.  
  
_**I did say that I am born of you. You nourished me, and made me what I am. And yet, I am everything you are not. While your mind birthed me, you took the pieces from somewhere else. If you are my mother…. then Red is…**_  
  
Mia widened her eyes, flabbergasted. "You…. oh no!"  
  
_**See? **_The grin on its face was contagious. _**You are already starting to think like me. I told you— we are so very much alike.**_

* * *

It didn't seem real, the way things had turned out.

Delia knew that she hadn't been the perfect mother. She had never claimed to be one. In the last fourteen years since his conception, Delia had always given her work a greater priority than her child. _His _child. There had been days when she _craved _to know the person's identity that had done this to her. To give a name to the wrongness.

Not for vengeance, but for catharsis.

Delia knew that her entire thought process was twisted, but what wasn't? At least with a name, she'd be able to replace that looming shadow with the picture of an ordinary man. The wraith in the darkness would vanish, leaving behind a name, an individual, something she could _blame_.

For everything that she had suffered.

For everything that _Red _had suffered.

"Delia?"

Delia broke out of her reverie, glancing at her professor who stood beside her. Instantly, the thoughts were buried as an overwhelming sense of anxiety gripped her. "Is he— is he okay?"

Oak seemed slightly conflicted, something that didn't assuage her fears.

"Professor?"

"He's… fine. For all intents and purposes, he's just… asleep."

"Comatose?"

Oak shook his head. "No."

"Then?"

Oak paused a moment, as if looking for the word that described Red's situation.

"... not comatose. His body is still responding to stimuli. Heat, pain, pressure, light… all of his senses are reacting like they should for someone awake but…"

"But what!" Delia demanded impatiently. The professor had a horrible habit of trailing off in the most inopportune circumstances.

"His brain waves suggest he's in REM Sleep. He's dreaming. Quite vividly, I may add."

"Then why won't he wake up?" Delia asked, confusion spreading across her face.

Oak threw his hands up. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"It means I don't know!" Oak snapped. "Brain activity says he's dreaming. His body movements show he's not in a coma, and yet… he wouldn't wake up." He paused, "He did say he was having headaches, right? Perhaps something to do with it?"

"I doubt it," Delia looked away, her face scrunched up. "Even back then when we were talking, he was uncomfortable. Almost like he wasn't here for some of it. It was very minor though, and possibly an effect from his treatment."

"Mild discomfort, slight headaches," Oak mused. "And then this? Something doesn't add up here."

"Neither of us noticed anything wrong. He was fine until you left." Delia Swallowed. "But then..."

"Then what?" Oak pressed.

"When you left me with him, he was… shaking, no, _spasming_, as if being near me was causing him physical pain."

"Delia, are you sure you are not seeing phantoms when there are none to see?"

"I _know_ what I saw, sir," Delia stressed, "I know. I may not have been the best parent, but my instincts are still sharp. You remember the Baetylus, don't you?"

Oak arched an eyebrow. "And here I thought you had chosen to forget your past."

"Can't forget the very thing that made me change, can I?" Delia looked troubled. "Even when I entered the room earlier, he— he was uncomfortable, on an instinctual level. Almost as if," she looked up, "as if my very presence was repulsive to him."

"Delia—"

"And then again and again— he snapped at me and— I was only trying to help but when I tried to get close he yelled at me." Tears were forming in her eyes now. "He told me to stay away."

"Red… has always been fond of his personal space," Oak began.

"You don't understand," Delia forced, "He didn't speak those words."

That stopped Oak on his tracks.

Delia swallowed, her gaze never leaving the man's eyes, "He didn't say it out loud. It was like— it was like getting hit by a brick wall. A wall of rejection, like… like I was unwanted and didn't understand him and should stay out of things I don't understand just like..."

Delia trailed off, before swallowing hard.

"...just like Mia.

* * *

The imitation had conjured a _pastry_, before proceeding to slowly nibble into it. Mia was a little sad that this _still _wasn't the most surreal thing that had happened ever since her… abduction into this strange dream-world.

But still… Why did it have to be a _pastry? _Why not something she hated? Like… like _lettuce? _The imitation was her polar opposite— the darkness to her light. Sorrow for her happiness. Even the colours were inverted. The swirling abyss of dark tendrils kept writing all around her, almost like a faithful growlithe— ready to strike her down at the first suspicion of hostility.

_Technically this is my mind as well. _Mia reminded herself.

The main problem was that she never exercised any control over it. She did not know how. Kirlia were empathetic creatures. What good was something as _orderly _and _structured _as a mindscape to her? She swam in a sea of emotions. Trotting in the mind's meadows were more suited to more structured psychics.

_Like… Kaz._

The thread pulsed again. More powerfully than ever before.

Mia swallowed. Moments ago, she'd have been exhilarated. But now, with the revelation that this imitation had allowed her to connect to read _intentionally_, she wasn't so sure.

_**It's about time. **_The imitation spoke gleefully, taking another small bite of the pastry— not that Mia was staring or anything.

"What?"

_**Feigning ignorance. My father has been a bad influence on you. **_It chuckled. _**He has arrived. Meeting his child after all this time… and that too without a gift?**_

It scowled, the expression just as fake as everything else.

_ **That cannot be allowed. I'll have my gift.** _

The imitation turned right, gazing into the abyss that was Mia's mindscape. The tendrils slowly started to twist and writhe, losing their opacity. They spasmed and contorted until they were semi-transparent.

It was like looking through a glass window. A mist-adorned window with fractured panes. And on the other side, stood Red. Only he wasn't alone. He was there in his room, getting his knee mended by his mother, while desperately trying to tell his mother something about the Garry kid.

_ **Isn't it beautiful?** _

Mia mused that in a twisted perspective, such a thing could be called Art. Then again, it wasn't like she had any hopes for this imitation. A part of her felt her spirits rise at seeing Red in front of her, regardless of whatever was happening to him. She hated it, but still… she couldn't help but feel _good _deep inside her.

Like she had been rejoined with something that was a part of her. After a long, long time. To think that all of this was part of some twisted, diabolical plan crafted by this imitation made her grit her teeth in anger.

And yet, it was almost surreal how despite everything that had happened, the greatest emotions she could feel was _irritation._

Annoyance with the imitation.

Not for what it had done to her. Not for whatever sinister agendas it had. But for _existing._

It was as if every single fibre of her being wanted to _deny _its existence more than anything else.

"What do you want?" She ground out at last, her face contorted into a deep scowl.

_**Me? **_The imitation grinned. _**Only the sweetest thing in the world, of course.**_

And then the screams began.

**~~X~~**

  
"Have there been any developments, doctor?"  
  
The medic, who was talking to a couple of nurses, murmured something to them before walking up to the veteran professor. "Professor Oak, I'm surprised to find you here in person."  
  
"Two days have passed and Red hasn't woken."  
  
"He is currently under stasis." The doctor explained, glancing at the two patients inside the glass chamber, the translucent dome constructed around the kirlia being the only thing keeping her away from the rest of the world. "I must say, despite my forty years of practice, this is entirely a novel situation. Even for me."  
  
Oak regarded the medic in front of him. Leff Flauros was one of the most accomplished surgeons in Kanto, as far as psychic treatment was considered. The man had devoted several decades of his life in the comprehension of the psychic-type, to the point of being considered an authority on the subject, at least from a researcher point of view. He had pioneered the research of psychic therapy, before becoming a full-time surgeon for Cerulean City. A few years later, and he hand ended up holding the Chair of Neuroscience at Pewter General.  
  
It was Flauros's presence, amongst other things, that had led to his decision about bringing Mia to the hospital, despite knowing the risks involved.  
  
"Your ward has a form of connection established with this kirlia." The doctor began, gesturing at a monitor in the room. "that much can be established from the psionic-waves she is releasing."  
  
"A psychic link?"  
  
Doctor Leff shook his head. "This connection is many things, but a psychic link is not. It is far more… complex. Their minds are interconnected on a level far more...intricate. It looks like a psychic link superficially, but the damage goes far deeper."  
  
"You mean… the soul?" Oak asked, his expression slightly vacant.  
  
"I have no interest in the mystical, Professor Oak. I am an academic, I deal with facts. The soul… is not an existence that has been proven.."  
  
Oak grimaced. Apparently Leff Flauros was one of _those _people.  
  
"That said… I do believe that the connection, or _bond, _or lack of a better word, does dip into both your ward," he paused, "and this Kirlia's… well for lack of a better word, lifeforce."  
  
That did it.  
  
"Lifeforce?" He exclaimed. "You mean, if Mia dies then..."  
  
"Red dies as well." The man completed glumly "I've been in medical practice for three decades now, and I can tell you, without a doubt that if this kirlia dies, then your ward will undoubtedly follow."  
  
Oak stared at him, for once completely speechless.  
  
"This kirlia," Leff continued, "has been emitting certain low-frequency psionic waves since this morning. Waves of such frequency usually point to damage in the mind. A psychic trying to repair itself or lost in its own memories."  
  
Oak frowned "So what has that got to do with Red?"  
  
"The thing is," Leff continued, almost as if expecting this question, "These waves are not being induced in Red due to an attack by the kirlia. Red is producing those waves on his own. Just like the kirlia. Ergo… Changes in her mind… are probably being mirrored in his own."  
  
"Oh." That was all the old man could say.  
  
Doctor Leff seemed to gauge the man's reaction. "Based on the data Miss Ketchum has forwarded to us, I have only been able to come to a single conclusion. This bond between them allows for the transference of Id."  
  
"Id?"  
  
His ignorance seemed to have thrown the man off. "Oh… Well, you might not have come across the term in your research, then."  
  
"People tend to think I know everything." Oak sighed. " One of the demerits of reputation, I suppose. I will have to ask you to shed some light on the matter...'"  
  
"I'll start at the beginning then," The doctor nodded, "Are you perchance… familiar with the term _psyche?"_  
  
Oak nodded.  
  
"That makes it easier. The psyche has three components— Id, Ego, and Superego. Id, or the subconscious instinct of a being, is what we are dealing with."  
  
"So Red and Mia are sharing subconscious instincts?" Oak asked, slightly flummoxed.  
  
"It sounds a little odd when put it like that," the doctor replied, nodding in acknowledgment, "You see, the Id can be divided into two parts— the first is the will to survive, to create, and to grow. It is the instinct that promotes life and love as we know it, and is called _Eros. _The other is its polar opposite. The drive to return to the dust, to destroy, to snuff out life— humanity, civilization and even oneself. We call this _Thanatos."_  
  
"Eros and Thanatos," Oak repeated, as if tasting the words. "You said that the bond shares Id. And if this is not a psychic link… I assume that it is done through some kind of emotion transference?"  
  
"I see you have studied the data."  
  
Oak shrugged. "Whatever I could make sense of. I'm not very familiar with the subject's intricacies."  
  
"Not many are," the doctor agreed genially, "and you are correct. Emotions are the expression of one's Id, and that is what has seemingly caused the problem."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"A human psyche, or more specifically, a human Id, contains both Eros and Thanatos, in varying proportions. A kirlia on the other hand, is different. It has an overwhelming amount of Eros, with little to no Thanatos. The base instinct is fundamentally different. Now take all of that and drop it in a human mind..."  
  
Oak lifted his chin. "That would cause an imbalance."  
  
Leff's eyes twinkled. "Exactly. From what we know of the subject, one could hypothesize that this kirlia has been somehow… transferring Eros into your ward, and absorbing his Thanatos in return. For example, has your ward been… hyperactive and easy to please?"  
  
Oak cocked his head. "That is one way of describing Red."  
  
"The Kirlia-line has the ability to absorb _happiness _from the environment, or Eros, if you will. Constant collection of Eros is what has kept this kirlia… sane all these years."  
  
"And then Red left for his journey."  
  
Leff's eyes twinkled. "That is the part that has me stumped_. _From my discussion with Miss Ketchum, she was under the impression that this kirlia was _feeding _upon negative emotions, describing a process she referred to as the _Shift. _Now while I'm acquainted with Dr. Eusine's work, his credentials are…. Well, I'm sure a man of your stature will understand."  
  
"I do." Oak didn't know what to say about that. That sort of reaction was normal when Eusine was mentioned. "I presume you do not agree with her deduction."  
  
"Please remember, the Gardevoir-line is _incapable _of consuming Thanatos. Even if she… took it into her mind, it _cannot _be her sustenance. Either way, with your ward gone, the influx of Thanatos should have ceased. It should have given it a chance to raise up her Eros levels, for lack of a better word. If anything, it should have been happier than it had ever been."  
  
"But she turned out to be the exact opposite," Oak stated, almost ruefully.  
  
"Correct. My only theory so far is that for some reason, it got so _addicted _to absorbing Thanatos, that the lack of it made her look for it elsewhere. Everywhere."  
  
"Almost like smoking," Oak responded. "You can't eat it, and it cant sustain you, but at some point you just can't stop. "  
  
"Exactly. But unlike most addictions that are chemical… this one was mental. Esoteric even. It got worse and worse the longer Red was away. And from what I understand, at its breaking point, it released a massive psionic outburst that made people relive their worst memories. Am I correct?"  
  
"So in essence, you are saying that this is an addiction to suffering?" Oak was a little bit incredulous "You mean to tell me that all of this is just Mia turning… sadistic?"  
  
"Well," the man had the decency to look sheepish. "It sounds really silly when you put it like that… but yes. It fits in with its past records. Empathic beings, including humans, tend to seek reconciliation and catharsis. Instinctively. For those as attuned to their emotions as a kirlia, such feelings go much deeper. I am assuming that it was able to latch on to Red's presence, through this _bond,_ and connect with him, on a metaphysical level."  
  
"Metaphysical…" Oak repeated the word. It felt somewhat distasteful.  
  
"Astral dimension, spiritual plane, mindscape… different cultures talk about it using different terms. Take your pick."  
  
"Metaphysical is fine."  
  
The doctor's mustache quivered. "As I said, this is only a hypothesis so far. I've been analyzing their brain waves, and so far, they are yet to synchronize perfectly, though that event might not be far from now. Till then, we only have to wait."  
  
"And when that happens?"  
  
"Theoretically, your ward should wake up." Leff looked at him somewhat remorsefully. " But whether he will still be the person you once knew him to be... I cannot say. You must understand that this is a completely novel situation for me. But don't worry. Your ward should be fine."  
  
"And if he isn't?"  
  
Doctor Leff stayed silent for several seconds before he exhaled. "Well let's hope that he does, I suppose."

* * *

_Stop this._

Mia felt something inside her writhe in pain, felt her teeth gnash in anger as the desire for vengeance threatened to overwhelm her. It was only the years of experience processing Red's emotions from a neutral perspective that had allowed her to realize what it was.

She was processing— no, _feeling _Red's emotions. All over again.

Over and over, in loops. It was like the teen was systematically going through every single episode of hurt, and pain and suffering he had gotten in his young life.

_Stop this._

The dark tendrils had kept her bound, her lower extremities still sunk beneath the chaotic swirl that formed the matrix of her mindscape. She had tried to break out, but nothing, _nothing _seemed to work. On the other side of the fake window— as she had begun to mentally call it —Red was suffering endlessly, and there was nothing Mia could do to help him.

What was worse was that a part of her seemed to _revel _in the pain.

_Stop this._

_**Isn't it beautiful? Pure, unfettered emotion, slowly leaching out of his soul, his mind, his spirit…**_

"It's not _beautiful. It's insane!"_

_**I'd rather call it inspired. **_The imitation went on. _**After all, he's finally come here. You will not believe just how much I have craved for his arrival. Just how many moments I have stood in patient wait, for my father, my creator… to enter these halls.**_

"Inspired?" Mia yelled angrily. Did this creature think she could not fight back? Just because some tendrils were dragging her down into some twisted crimson cobweb? This was her mind, and now that she was slightly attuned to it, she was capable of controlling it, directing it.

Using it.

And so she did.

"You will stop this right now, or I'll _kill _you myself."

_**Kill… what a deliciously evil thought. **_The imitations lip curled. _**Positively… morbid, in fact. And here I thought I was the big bad monster hiding in the shadows. The darkness incarnate to contrast your inviolable purity.**_

"You are insane," Mia yelled back. "You call yourself my opposite, but all that you are is a tainted mass of emotions. I was right back then. You are nothing but _garbage."_

_**And yet garbage has its uses. Here you are, drawing out traces of happiness to survive… ignoring the wrathful maelstrom of despair all around you. Remember when the world around you was crying in despair and suffering…. Wasn't it glorious?**_

The imitation smiled.

_**I was there. I understand what it was. What it was worth. And after this, I shall have it.**_

Red screamed again.

This time, Mia didn't respond. She was no fighter, but she wasn't helpless. Conjuring a stream of pure psychic particles, Mia shaped it in the form of a spear, before launching it at the imitation.

It was stopped before it could even travel halfway— shredded to pieces by the surrounding tendrils, before getting absorbed into the crimson liquid.

_**You really shouldn't have done that. You know as well as I that I cannot be defeated. Not by you, and definitely not in this place. **_The thing stepped forward a twisted smile etched on its face. _**This is my world.**_

"And my mind." Mia snapped, not bothering with any shapes this time. If this was her mind, then it would create _anything _that she could conceive. And while she couldn't perform a psychic attack to save her life, Kaz could.

All she needed to do was give birth to that idea, that memory, and let it take form in her mind.

And so she did.

Tiny bits of bright, silvery vapor manifested around her, dancing and spiraling around it each, forming several helixes, before spinning and contorting into themselves. Before she knew it, she had _chains_— several dozens of them— shooting out of her own form, all aiming for the imitation that threatened to destroy her world.

The first chain was cleaved into three parts before it could get past the midway line.

The second was deflected by a rising swarm of tendrils, spinning, and drilling like some gargantuan monster that had been lurking inside the depths of the crimson darkness.

_**I know you mean well. You just didn't think it through. Admirable, but mistaken.**_

The tendrils began to rise, morphing into twisted chains numbering in tens, in hundreds, in thousands. Ever-increasing in number, they surrounded her tormentor like coiled serpents.

_**But don't worry. At the end of this all I will forgive you.**_

The chains turned to face her, their tips sharpened into barbed spears.

_**After all, you are my mother.**_

And then they shot forward.

Even as the chains had started forming, Mia had already begun preparing her next move— something she had seen Kaz perform before.

A dense cloud of psychic energy gathered around her, contorting and spinning like a disc. Without delay, Mia pushed it downwards, tearing through the tendrils that had her bound, and then threw herself out of the hell pit.

Just in time to avoid a flurry of chains impaling the location she occupied a moment earlier.

_That was close. Now I just need to keep doing that until I have a chance to end it._

It was easier said than done, her sheer stubbornness being the only reason that she was able to put up a fight. And while it was her mind, she was sorely lacking as far as _control _was concerned. Dancing was all she knew, and dancing wouldn't—

…

Or could it?

For the first time since being captured, Mia smiled. Her body levitated slowly before her eyebrows waggled at the imitation, taunting it, before she took _flight._

And a gale of pure, undiluted happiness swept in.

_**Using happiness to fight sorrow. You'll never just accept defeat, will you? Then again, you are my mother. And for that, I'll always love you.**_

The tendrils coalesced into barbed spears once again, all aiming for her heart.

But they would not touch her.

Mia spun in the air, dancing as she did so, allowing the newly manifested psychic to take random shapes— flowers, pastries, kitchen ladles— anything and everything she could associate with her _happier _memories. The sea of writhing tendrils, however, still didn't respond to her, despite it being her mind.

_Or maybe I'm not trying hard enough?_

With undivided focus, Mia _called _the crimson blackness on the floor towards herself, _willing _it to turn into a garden of flowers like her little lawn. And to her surprise, something inside them _moved._

The top portion burst open, like the top of a volcano, only to throw up pink and maroon and green petals into the air.

_**You think that you can control everything here.**_

Mia grinned and—

_Thousands _of tendrils tore through the flower petals from behind, shooting at Mia with the intent to kill. A timely display of _agility _helped her escape crucifixion.

_**But you merely adopted it… Manipulated it by force…**_

The tendrils twisted and churned and slithered their way through the air, locked on Mia's form, as she kept using her powers to escape or deflect and—

"KYAAH!"

Mia screamed, as she felt a sharp spear of darkness impale her from the abdomen, tearing through her defenses, sending her into the pool of crimson liquid. Ignoring her injuries, she tried to use the mindscape to aid her, but the tendrils were faster still. They stretched her hands apart, her legs twisted behind her— trapped, with a hundred tendrils hovering above her face, ready to impale through her at the slightest movement.

_**I was born in it. Moulded by it.**_

The imitation snapped her fingers, and the tendrils _pulled _backward, ripping both of Mia's hands from their bone sockets.

Mia let out an agonized scream.

The imitation _winced. **That must have really hurt. I'm sorry. I was really trying to make it painless for you. I'll try harder this time. Stand still, please.**_

The tendrils coalesced again, only this time twisting and turning into itself as it condensed. First came the hands, then the legs, and then finally a large jaw protruded out from the back of its head. The creature of darkness opened its bright eyes, and blinked cutely at Mia.

And then it's color shifted, turning a pale yellow.

_**How would you rate this as improvisation?**_

Mia gritted her teeth. So this was what it was going to be. Using her own fears against her. Really, why had she expected any different? Besides the more she was—

Red screamed.

_Again._

_**Just thought that a reminder was necessary. Now you have context.**_

_I hate her a lot._

The admission didn't help, but still, it felt wildly cathartic. Perhaps all that hype about _fighting and training _wasn't as brainless after all. Perhaps if she managed to survive this… mess, she'd ask Kaz for tips.

WOOSH!

A sharp tendril ripped past her face, nearly slicing it in half. And immediately behind it, came the gigantic, black, metallic-looking jaw, its teeth bared hungrily at her. Mia sent out a blast of pure power into the jaw, pleased to find the jaws shattering upon impact. The _mawile _roared in rage as it fell down into the floor—

"Is this really all— _oh you've got to be—"_

Mia squeaked, and shot to her left, narrowly missing the beam of pure darkness, launched from the _mawile's _jaw. Come to think of it, it was a surprise she had managed to hold back the agony that was tearing through her right now.

The pain alone was unbearable, as was the disorientation, but it was made far worse by the continuous sounds of Red's screams_. _She tried to keep his cries out of her mind, but they kept getting louder.

_Just a little more. Just a little—_

_**And then you'd be able to save him? It seems you still haven't understood what this is all about, dear mother.**_

"And it blabbers yet again!" Mia muttered, sending another blast using the power of her _mind. _Apparently, even though none of this was _real, _the pain and injury on her arms were _real enough, _at least for as long as she was trapped inside this hellish mindscape.

And she still had no idea how to get out of it.

Mia turned her attention back to the more immediate problem— The mawile look-alike that was attacking her. She _was _going to enjoy this. Energy converged around her, condensing into a flickering ball of _flames_, before launching it down at the _mawile, _taking with it all her frustration, her resentment and her jealousy. The creature screeched in pain as the energies burned it, slowly erasing it from existence.

_**To think you had this much anger inside you. Fascinating.**_

Another fireball landed around the imitation, only to be deflected by more tendrils arising out of the darkness.

_**I wonder if you'll show me… more, if I do this.**_

Screams inundated Mia's entire world. Screams of pain and agony and suffering, screams of the one person she coveted over everything else. Anger contorted her features, as Fire turned to _Ice, _flames twisting into strong, barbed shards that launched at the source of her miseries with extreme prejudice. Mia wasn't even thinking. Her mind was caught up in a sea of turmoil and rage— no clear thoughts or actions, just an instinctual barrage of mental _curses _that commanded the world to do one single thing.

_Kill._

More shards ran down.

Tendrils rose and took them upon themselves.

_Kill._

Balls of Ice, rocks, boulders, snow, frost, hail— the world almost appearing inverted.

_Kill._

But it was for not. The floor of dark crimson opened up like a massive jaw, swallowing the incoming projectiles, A solid wall of darkness that absorbed everything that Mia threw down.

And throughout it all, Red kept screaming.

"STOP! TORTURING! HIM!"

Fire. Ice. Steel. Rock. Electricity. It didn't matter what it was. It didn't matter what was conjured. The entire thing was no longer a game between minds. It was a comparison of _insanity_. There were no tactics here, only _violence_.

Mia kept striking down at her imitation randomly, conjuring anything and everything she could think of. _Whatever her imagination could create, the world around her could conjure. _And yet, despite her giving it everything she had—

_**It still falls short.**_

The imitation chuckled. _**A valiant effort, nonetheless. I never expected something like that, from a little girl.**_

"Shut up."

_**Why? Isn't that why Red left you? Because you are little… and useless?**_

"Stop _talking!" She threw another _barrage of attacks over— this time, a storm of fire and lightning.

And just like the last time, it was futile. The darkness rose again, forming into swords and spears and weapons of unfathomable numbers. Hundreds. _Thousands._

She tore through the imitation's weapons, but no matter how many she destroyed, there was always _more._

And in the end, that was the absolute truth. Mia knew it. This was a battle that would last forever. Mia would _keep _conjuring newer and newer weapons, bringing out an infinite assault upon her imitation. The _darkness _would forever rise, defending, deflecting, attacking relentlessly.

And all the while, Red would continue to _suffer._

And the more he suffered, the more she would continue to rage. Continue to tune in to more of her negative emotions, feed on negative impulses of the world, and at the end—

There would be no happiness left to conjure.

There would be… no Red.

Mia stopped short. Her still form levitated aimlessly in the air.

_**Oh, you're finished already? But surely you have some more happiness left, yes? I recommend you keep trying till you run out.**_

Mia gritted her teeth. Almost giving in to her instinct, she nearly launched another spear at the imitation, before relinquishing her hold.

The spear shattered into nothingness.

_**I see. You've realized it now, haven't you? Try as you might, you'll never be able to match me.**_

Its lips curled.

_**Does it frustrate you? To desperately cling to the fact that you're right… yet to fail all the same?**_

"I… I'll… kill… "

_**No. **_The imitation smiled, stepping forward, the tendrils contorting around it protectively. _**You will not. You cannot. You never had the potential to.**_

Mia's hands clenched into fists, her eyes blaring pure, unadulterated hatred. It was almost _pitiful _to find herself desperately clinging to _calmness. _To not lose control and give in to the very darkness that empowered _that thing._

To not become her.

_It would be so easy._

Mia shook her head. Even her own thoughts were beginning to falter. Her mind flashed back to the sphere of pure power the imitation had forced upon her during her vision of Pallet Town. Back then she had flinched, hesitated, but once she had gotten past the throes of pain, she had _understood _what it was she had been holding.

_Use it._

One's reality was a sum total of one's interactions with the world and one's own subconscious. One's own knowledge, beliefs, thoughts, ideologies, every single _judgment _that one made— all of them were components that crafted one's reality. A thought was an extension of one's will, one's _instinct. _Emotion was instinct given form. And here, emotions had power.

And back at that moment, she had felt the power of over a thousand souls— the people of Pallet Town —when their negative emotions were most powerful.

And it was a power like no another.

_**You finally understand. The soul craves for its own destruction. Destruction of life, destruction of society, destruction of civilization, and even oneself. To return to the very dust that it once originated from. The instinct of Death itself.**_

_**That is who I am.**_

The imitation's eyes glowed. _**And when my father will lose himself in the eternity of darkness, your sadness, your despair will give birth to the real me.**_

It raised both arms in a wide circle. _**Your mind is the womb. His suffering is my soul. And your acceptance…. My conception.**_

In another bout of rage, Mia raised a cloud of malevolent psychic energy, before tossing it towards her.

_**ENOUGH!**_

The attack _spasmed _within itself, before slowly dissipating.

_**You think you can control this place… because it is your mind?**_

Tendrils rose and slowly moved towards her.

Mia tried to construct more weapons, flares of light, burning fireballs, shards of ice—

Nothing worked. Everything she constructed simply vanished at conception. As if, they were not allowed to exist.

_**Fool. You could only fight because I allowed you too.**_

The tendrils bound her, tearing into her skin, drawing blood, incapacitating her completely. Mia struggled helplessly, but she was dragged down onto the floor.

Face to face with the imitation, which then raised its left hand, and with its forefinger, it caressed Mia's face with a smile.

_**Your mind betrays you, **_The smile deepened. _**For your mind belongs to me.**_

...

…

Mia remained silent. It was true. Everything the imitation had told her had been true. She had no power here. Her mind wasn't hers. Her power wasn't hers. Even the well of power she had tapped into had been nothing short of a _gift _from this imitation. A gift, given to inspire _false _hope.

To see her rise and try her best to defeat it.

To see her do _everything, _only to fail and sink in despair.

Despair.

It was always about Despair.

Unlike hope, or happiness, or affection, _despair _was an acquired concept. One had to know love to feel hate. One had to feel loss to feel anger. And one had to feel one's hopes and ideal shatter into nothingness to feel _despair._

The more Red suffered, the more she would be lost in her own sense of despair. The more she was lost, the more this imitation… this _garbage, _would be able to become one with her. The more that happened, the quicker she'd be lost, leaving behind this screaming abyss that would leave nothing but darkness in its wake.

It would return everything to the very dust from which life once again. It would destroy her, destroy Red, destroy her beautiful garden…

Destroy all happiness.

And then…. It would be _born._

Which meant…

She smiled. It was all so simple.

_Start from the beginning. Remember who you are. What you are._

Mia looked up, her lips twisting into a smile. "I finally understand."

The imitation cocked its head to the left, peering into Mia's eyes, as if trying to comprehend what was going on in her mind. _**Strange, I felt you give up hope but… something is changed. The scent of your emotions have changed.**_

"Yes," Mia continued softly, closing her eyes, "This is my mind, and yet…. It is under your control. I control this body, I feel my senses, and yet, my mind follows your directives. My senses tell me what you want me to think."

The imitation said nothing.

"My mind connects with Red through the Bond. You have it completely under control, and yet… you needed _me _to bring Red in. You could have erased me, and taken over. And yet, you want me to _break down _in despair. Despair would _create You, _which means…"

Mia's lips quivered, as she now openly gazed at her nemesis, smiling peacefully through her eyes. "This world… is not _real. _It is _not _my mind. Like you, it is but a pale imitation."

_**You dare—**_

"And it is time I put an end to this farce!"

Without hesitation, Mia pushed herself forward, stabbing her neck into the closest spear.

**~~X~~**

  
_This place is a labyrinth._  
  
It was almost surreal how exquisitely the entire hospital had been created. And every location was completely unique. He had been traversing through the entire edifice over and over, and he had _yet _to come across a location he had visited before.  
  
It was almost like the hospital was eternally large. Like one could keep walking on and on and on, and yet never find a way out.  
  
There were stairs going above and below. He had tried both.  
  
The stairs running upwards led to the next floor. And then the one after that, and so on. There was no end.  
  
The stairs going downstairs were the same. There were no elevators, no floor numbers. Nothing.  
  
No Roof. No Balcony. Windows that would not open and stairways that did not end, this was an ever-expanding skyscraper that would provoke strong feelings of claustrophobia in even the most composed of individuals.  
  
And yet, he didn't. Or rather, he could feel a growing anxiety deep within him, but it was so tiny that it could be regarded as unimportant in the scheme of things. Besides, compared to the mind-shattering trauma he had suffered from his own past— _from familiar things— _this novelty was almost welcome.  
  
The fear was unimportant.  
  
The restlessness was ignorable.  
  
Instead, he felt the _mystery _generate a morbid sense of curiosity within himself. The strangeness appealed to his sense of adventure. Every single time he found himself in a never-ending corridor, the emotion that found itself expressed was curiosity. Interest. A mind-melting predilection to find an end to it all.  
  
And as he loitered around, idly pondering about the idiosyncrasies of the situation, he found himself remembering the history lessons back at school. About the mythological _Kalpavriksha, _the World Tree. Legends said that the fruits from the tree could bring back the dead, and how it existed in the realm of the Gods of Old. Only on certain specific astronomical events would the tree manifest itself— surrounded by a near-endless labyrinth of mountainous caves, with the tree somewhere in the middle of it all.  
  
_Reserata Carcerum— _the House of Cameran had named it, back when they had reached the shores of Kanto for the first time, almost half a millennia ago. The caves existed even now, though the tree had never been found. The Lords of Cameran had chosen to settle in the region, building their kingdom and capital city around it.  
  
Today's generations called that city _Rota_. Regarded as an imminent historical spot, the place was filled with tales and archaeological constructs left by the Camerans, but even now, there existed several believers in the original myth of the endless labyrinth and the World Tree.  
  
Oak had narrated the story to him back when he was a child— stories of myths and legends being very attractive to his eight-year-old self.  
  
_And now I'm stuck in something similar. Perhaps I should be feeling honored?  
  
**You should be feeling crushed.**_  
  
Red spun back, surprised at the sudden intrusion to his privacy, and found eye to eye with a very familiar entity, someone he'd never have expected to see _here _of all places. The look on her seemed new, what with the inversion of colors, but the bright red in her eyes was just as he remembered.  
  
"...Mia?"  
  
_Mia _smiled. _**We meet at last. I must say this isn't how I expected this union to turn out.**_  
  
Red's grin faltered before he pushed his legs backward. His stance shifted slightly, as he regarded the entity in front of him. Come to think of it, there was more than just a color inversion. Sure, the facial structure looked the same, but the expression in her face was _alien.  
  
That condescension. Mia would never smile like that._  
  
"Who… are you?"  
  
The _alien _cocked her head sideways. _**You don't recognize me? I'm—**_  
  
"Not Mia," Red answered for her.  
  
Her smile deepened. "_**I'm not Mia. You got that right. And you… are not Red. At the very least, you shouldn't be Red. Those memories should have broken you. A heartless, bitter soul, ready to kill or be killed on a whim. Not…. this you, standing before me.**_  
  
"You…" Red stopped, the sheer magnitude of the rage within him cutting the sentence short. The casual way with which this creature— whatever it was —spoke about his suffering clearly indicated its personal involvement. Anger rose in him by leaps and bounds before a different thought flitted into his mind .  
  
"You're the reason Mia is sick, and why I am… whatever this is."  
  
The creature grinned maliciously. It was almost _surreal _to see that expression hung on Mia's innocent visage.  
  
_**Mia… is dead.**_  
  
"...what?"  
  
_**Oh yes, she is dead. A pity really.**_  
  
"You… you cannot be serious…" Red felt his legs shake, feeling a rush of anxiety and disbelief rise up. If it were anymore greater, he'd have thrown up. Mia… dead? That couldn't be real. No way.  
  
No _fucking _way.  
  
"You are… you're lying." He took a shaky step ahead. It was surprising that his legs hadn't already given away. Mia was… Mia was the one constant in his entire life. She had always been there at his side. _Always._  
  
And this _monster _had the gall to even _insinuate _that she was—  
  
_NO!_  
  
Red pushed away the thought, denying it with every inch of his will. He wanted to scream at this monstrosity but for some godforsaken reason, the _sheer horror _that should have inundated his mind was _missing._  
  
All he could feel was slight impulses of uncertainty. Sudden spikes of tensions and an ever-present, if tiny, sensation of dread.  
  
And he _hated it._  
  
Not-Mia grinned at him. _**Would I lie to you? I can even narrate how it happened. In excruciating deta—**_  
  
Red was done listening. He was already moving forward, his hands clenched into a fist. A moment later and he had driven his knuckles into this _thing's _face.  
  
Anger rushed through his veins, almost like a faithful puppy answering its master's call. The rage, the disbelief, and the _hate— _all of that needed a sink. A destination.  
  
Red gave it one. The _vile imitation._  
  
And then _something _intercepted his next punch. He couldn't exactly see who or what it was. All he could feel was some kind of invisible force, keeping him from punching the daylights out of this _evil _thing. Frustrated, he pushed in with his other arm, but the result remained the same.  
  
Nothing worked.  
  
Not-Mia smiled, as something large and invisible _slammed _into Red, pushing him and pinning him against a wall with a loud did nothing to remove the defiant expression etched on his face.  
  
_**How barbaric! Here I am trying to make conversation and you're trying to hit me?**_  
  
"Let me _go!" _Red yelled, doing his best to push himself away from the wall. He tried to push himself using his legs as support but the invisible force kept him stuck to the wall.  
  
_**With pleasure.**_  
  
Not-Mia laughed, before waving her left arm. Instantly the force that had him pinned up against the wall vanished before a second force shoved him against the wooden door to the right. The door creaked loudly before giving in, as Red fell past it, tearing through the wooden board itself.  
  
_**I was there during her last moments. Do you want to know how it was? **_The monster chirped on happily. _**The poor thing. She brought you into her mind, hoping you'd save her. She kept on struggling, in the hope that you'd come save her. It was almost hilarious.**_  
  
A pained expression formed on her face before she continued in a deep, nasal, mocking voice. _**Red will save me. Red will save me. I just need to hold on a bit longer. Red will save me.**_  
  
Red gritted his teeth in anger as the monster's laughter echoed through the entire refused to believe that Mia was dead though. Just because this monster said so didn't mean it was true. He'd deny it and deny it and keep on denying it, until he had seen it himself.  
  
And even then, he'd continue to deny it.  
  
His leg wasn't moving properly, probably twisted, but surprisingly, there was no pain.  
  
Cursing his luck, he pushed himself against his elbows, trying to reach for the timber around him for support, as he whispered, venom dripping in his tone.  
  
"And for that…. I'm going to make you _suffer."_  
  
Not-Mia blinked. _**So you… don't want me to tell you why she sacrificed her life in vain?**_  
  
She walked forward, uncaring of his obvious intentions. Red didn't know what was worse. The fact that she was uncaring about his murderous threat, or the fact that she was continuing on with the entire facade.  
  
_Either way… it does not matter._  
  
He tried to push himself up again, this time managing to get hold of one of the longer wooden pieces.  
  
_**She sacrificed herself to keep you safe inside this place. Safe from the pain. Safe... from me.**_  
  
Her grin seemed to split her face into two.  
  
_**She thought she could save you.**_  
  
It was almost surprising how he was able to react with such clarity. As much as he wanted to beat the _crap _out of this creature, he needed to get away first. He needed to _survive. _More importantly, if he had understood it correctly, then he had been going about this entire thing the _wrong _way.  
  
This place-the hospital— it wasn't a _prison, or a maze._  
  
It was a fortress.  
  
It wasn't meant to keep _him _in. It was meant to keep _that thing _out.  
  
But this monster had somehow managed to step in.  
  
Which led to his current problem.  
  
_**She believed that, even when I slit her throat.**_  
  
And something _changed. _The fiery rage was gone, and in its stead, a strange calmness resonated through him. All plans of escape were out of question. Instead, his heart screamed for one and one thing alone.  
  
Vengeance.  
  
"Is that so?" He asked, surprising himself with the calmness in his voice. "Well… good to know."  
  
And then he moved.  
  
Faster than possible, and kicked the _monster _down. He could see the surge of shock and something like _fear _in her eyes, before another invisible blow landed on his arm, deflecting the attack.  
  
The only problem was, it wasn't enough to stop the momentum. Red went along with it, and shoved the shrapnel ahead, rupturing through her left shoulder.  
  
The monster cried out in pain, as Red somehow managed to pull himself up again, limping as he did. Despite all the wounds littering his body,Red felt no pain. Too tired to move, it was all he could do to release an exhilarated chuckle that he released as he gazed on his downed foe.

* * *

The imitation fell back, clutching her ruptured shoulder, the deep gash spurting out blood like she had never seen before. She opened her mouth to question it but all that was released was a scream of pain and traumatic shock at nearly being killed like that in the hands of someone she considered easy prey.

This was a new experience for her. Afterall wounds were an indignity that were not allowed to befall her in the mindscape. The advantage of home-territory was lost to her in this… place. The oversight had nearly cost her her life.

She cursed.

Ever since it had all begun, the _blob_ had been experiencing quite a number of negative emotions, which was funny considering its own origins. A being created out of frustration feeling _frustrated?_

It was almost a bad joke. The problem was, it wasn't in the mood for _jokes _anymore.

Everything had worked out perfectly from the very beginning. With Red away, it had been a matter of time before its _mother _had welcomed it with open arms. Like any child, it had embraced upon the opportunity with relish, crawling out of the limitless depths of the mindscape and connecting with Mia's true senses.

It had experienced the _sea of emotions _that was the real world.

It was exhilarating. Invigorating. Stirring.

Like the very first taste of freedom after an eternity of captivity. It hadn't mattered when it had never tasted it, but now it needed more. Now it knew and could not forget. The contrast turned the normalcy of its existence into endless suffocation, drowning in its own curses. In its own hate.

And the only bit of freedom it could get. The only respite... was Mia.

A creature that by _human logic, _was its own mother. And yet, the mother had been _strangling _the child, suffocating it, making it endlessly suffer inside that pit of darkness. The emotions bubbling inside itself hadn't felt… nice.

It had been quite some time before _it _had come to recognize them as _hatred._

And yet despite it all, the unshakeable truth was that Mia was the _mind. _It, on the other hand, was a mass of emotions— primal instinct given sapience. An impossibility even by a kirlia's standards, and yet here it was. It hadn' asked to be born, but Mia had conceived it, regardless of the mechanics involved.

And now that it was born, it was not going to keep on suffering_._

Its creator would need to take _responsibility._

It had been quite some time before _it _had realized that it was calling itself _She. _Feminine. Like its mother. And so, it crafted herself just like its mother's template.

Only with a few modifications.

Glorious happiness had never found it, and so, suffering had risen to its protection.

Hatred had cloaked it from the pains caused by the absence of affection.

Joy had been denied, so the soothing darkness of sorrow had formed its crown.

Thus, _she— _a Mia of darkness —was born.

It was only right, thereafter, that she had stepped forward to achieve her vengeance. Her right. Her destiny.

She had come to realize that despite her sapience, she wasn't quite the _Mind. _That was a dominion held by Mia and Mia alone. What she had instead, was access to the very mindscape, the cradle of her genesis. The matrix that had nurtured her, allowed her to thrive.

A mindscape that she had grown to comprehend with time.

And yet, she was not _Mind. _The _bond _with Red— her father, connected with Mia's psyche, past the realms of the mindscape, past the limitations of personality, into the depths of Instinct itself. It was something that Mia and Mia alone could perceive through her senses, and connect to. And no matter how much the darkness tried, it could not gain access to it.

As such, bringing Mia into the equation had become an absolute necessity.

The darkness wasn't the Mind. She couldn't become the Mind. However, what she could do was break Mia. Seeing Red suffer— seeing her sole connection to life slowly waste away into an emotionless husk would shatter Mia-shatter the Mind. It would turn Mia into an entity so lost in sorrow and suffering and despair. A hollow shell of a Mind.

And then she'd take absolute control, inject her own sapience in the hollowness left by Mia's shattered personality.

She would become the Mind.

And a Mia of Darkness, one that would feast upon the sorrows of the world, one that was an answer to humanity's pleas— the manifestation of the darkest thoughts of all life, would be born.

Death, the devourer of the minds of men, would be born.

And everything would have worked out _perfectly, _if not for that final gambit that Mia had chosen to take.

She had chosen to _destroy _herself— destroy the Mind. Without a Mind, the mindscape would shatter— _was shattering_, and the darkness's own _will _could only hold it up for so long. It was almost a miracle that the bond was continuing to exist, though that was probably because of its conception in the instincts rather than the mindscape.

But there was something potentially more dangerous than that.

With her own sacrifice, Mia had closed the doors to the _Bond, _which had enacted its default protocol— to _protect _Red from negative emotions— exactly what the Mindscape and the memory loop had been.

And what she was as well.

And just like that, the darkness had lost everything. Or she would have.

If not for the one silver lining.

The bond was _weakening, _for some reason. It was almost as if a significant part of its power was being used for something... _else._

The darkness had taken advantage of the situation and penetrated into the Bond. Her powers within this bounded field would be significantly decreased, but she was far from powerless. Between herself and the mindscape trying to tear through the bond's protections, it was only a matter of time before she'd be able to shatter it completely.

And then she'd take over Red's mind. It wouldn't be ideal, but it was her best chance.

Now only if she could find this..._brat _who had sprinted off after landing a surprise attack on her. Before she could finish speaking…

_Cowardice, _as humans would say.

The fact that this _coward _humanling had nearly killed her in an attempt to escape was not lost on her. She'd need to be careful. This wasn't her nurturing environment. This was a fortress created to protect Red. She'd need to be much more proactive if she wanted to survive.

_Ah, found you._

She raised her other arm, biting back a wince as searing pain tore through her, and threw out another powerful wave of force. The walls shook, dropping whitish powder and the doors themselves were torn out of their hinges before blasting them into tiny shrapnel. Another wave, and the shrapnel was blown away revealing another empty room.

It only served to make her angrier. She radiated a powerful surge of rage, and her power obeyed, manifesting as a shockwave that tore apart the corridor.

And yet, there was no one.

_ **Did you think you'd escape me?** _

She went on, wrecking the place as she slowly limped forward, the sprain in her ankle coupled with the broken shoulder girdle making it a pain to move even slightly.

_**I'm going to tear this place down. **_She whispered, more to herself than to her prey. _**You can run.**_ _**But you can't hide.**_

**~~X~~**

  
She cursed her worthlessness.  
  
She cursed herself for not thinking twice.  
  
Why was this all the energy she had? Perhaps if she had listened to Red in the past, had actually _learned _something instead of dancing _uselessly _all day, she might have been able to do something.  
  
Maybe she could have fought a little fiercer. Resisted being taken off-guard. Maybe she'd have known better than to bring _her _Red into the imitation's reach. Maybe that _thing _wouldn't have….  
  
Mia allowed the thought to trail off. It didn't matter now. It was over. And yet, a part of her rebelled. Why was this the end?  
  
_Just a little more… If I can get just a little further into the mindscape… If I can just…_  
  
The gash from the tendril spouted out blood. Crimson. Dark. Just like the mindscape.  
  
The irony of the situation reaches her eyes. All this had started because she wanted to get back to Red. And now…  
  
_I'll be lost forever.  
  
Red will be lost forever.  
  
It's so…. unfair._  
  
The tendrils relax around her. She could hear the imitation screaming. Whatever had happened— whatever her stunt had done— it must have _hurt _it. Mia didn't know how, but she was sure it was not having a good time. But her current problems were far more urgent.  
  
She didn't know if the world around her was real or just an illusion.  
  
She didn't know if her death would even matter.  
  
At this point the only thing that was real to her was Red. She brought Red in here, and thus, he was connected _through _her. Her own demise would break the link and set him free.  
  
_I hope he forgives me for all that suffering._  
  
She slowly left the folds of the tendrils, and dropped down onto the floor.  
  
She couldn't even feel the landing. All she could feel was the lack of… _what?_  
  
She didn't remember.  
  
Her senses picked up nothing. She tried to move her hand.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
Did she even have a hand? A leg? A body?  
  
Did she…. Was she—?  
  
Her mind was slowly growing blank, A fog was encroaching her from all directions.  
  
Her senses were slowly leaving her.  
  
_So… does this mean…  
  
Have I lost?_  
  
She had no eyes, but she could feel the particles of energy all around her. As if she were lying somewhere up there in the night sky, surrounded by the tiny stars twinkling all day long…  
  
She idly wondered if there'd be a shooting star somewhere too. Those were rare, but they were so _beautiful._  
  
And all of it kept going upwards.  
  
Or perhaps it was her, who was going downwards. Sinking.  
  
Her body had already vanished. Her thoughts, her feelings, her deepest secrets, and her silliest ideas…  
  
All lost in the middle of this… nowhere.  
  
And now, all that remained was a simple desire.  
  
A dream.  
  
A _wish_.  
  
To stand alongside her dearest friend, amongst the cherry blossoms in the garden they had met. Back when he named her _Mia. _Back when he came running to her, held out his hand, and took her out into the garden to play.  
  
When it tasted like pastries and smelt like pollen.  
  
Things had been much simpler then-. And all the more beautiful.  
  
The lights slowly died out as her remaining senses failed her.  
  
And then the darkness encroached upon her, entombing her within the blackness.  
  
…  
  
…  
  
…  
  
_**Ask yourself— just what did you try to protect?**_  
  
Mia didn't have eyes, and yet she stared ahead.  
  
There was nothing. Just emptiness— not _dark, _but empty. She could feel tiny particles of energy all around her. They radiated power, and yet, they weren't there.  
  
What kind of illusion was this?  
  
_**You have failed in that objective.**_  
  
Who was speaking? She didn't know. It was different from the imitation. _It _had been suggestive, slowly trying to encroach itself into her. Like a parasite. This one though… it felt strong, dominant, true….  
  
Dare she hope for a second chance?  
  
Wait… she was a _she?_  
  
How was she even able to feel? She could remember herself slowly dissipating into nothingness. Now that she thought about it, she was the _Mind. _She was connected to her senses, to her bond….  
  
…._Bond._  
  
Mia didn't have a body, and yet, she turned around.  
  
She was still connected to the Bond. There it was, like an anchor, sinking deep into the instincts, into the mindscape into the remains of the being that was once Mia, but was slowly losing its Mia-ness.  
  
She had for all intents and purposes destroyed herself, slowly assimilated into the vast depths of her mindscape. And yet, the bond maintained her personality, her identity….  
  
Was she Mia? Or was she... the mindscape? Was this real? Was this a dream?  
  
Did it even _matter?_  
  
One's reality was another's illusion. One's perception defined one's _reality. _What did it mean to be _correct _or _true?_  
  
They were vague concepts at best. Thus, reality was a mirage, shaped by one's beliefs. Reinforced by one's awareness. Maintained by one's concept of truth.  
  
The destruction of the Mind was shattering everything, and yet, the Bond, her connection to Red— it stayed intact. Keeping her sense of self. _Saving _her.  
  
It connected to the Instinct, to the core,to the soul that defined Mia. This was above happiness or cruelty, above thought or emotion, above instinct, above the very mind itself—  
  
So what was real? What was the truth? What defined it? Reality or Illusion…  
  
Mind, or Matter?  
  
Or was it all just a… mirage?  
  
Her head was spinning, the comprehension of her dual existence kept bombarding against each other. Her senses as an individual, _forced _into existence by the Bond, clashed against her existence as a dissolved Mind that was part of the mindscape. _Was_ the mindscape.  
  
A thousand realities formed around her, given birth through her thoughts_, _brought into existence through her will. A thousand realities dissipated into dust as the individual in Mia kept denying them, naming mere illusions.  
  
Awareness ceased to be real, for what was it except her own beliefs? Her own faith in what she _perceived _as real.  
  
Perception faded into illusion, since all manifestations of thought inside the mindscape were more real than real could be.  
  
Reality existed _inside _the mind, nowhere else.  
  
Mind would prevail. Mind would define Matter. Mind would define power. Mind would turn illusion into reality, and reality into illusion.  
  
She was a creature of the Mind_._  
  
The Mind was _everything._  
  
It was then that everything about the mind that she had learned, thought, _perceived, _came together in a single sentence. One that held the essence of her comprehension. One that defined the entirety of her understanding.  
  
**Power is a state of Mind.**  
  
And then the world changed.  
  
And somewhere in the eternal blackness of the mindscape, a pair of _eyes _snapped open.

* * *

"Professor Oak, I understand what this means on your part and I sympathize with—"

"No, you don't," Oak thundered, "I'll not have you exterminate her while Red is connected to her. I'll never be able to forgive myself." He regarded the doctor with a wary expression, "you said that the brain waves were slowly approaching resonance, did you not?"

"I did, I accept that, but the situation is getting out of hand." Leff Flauros argued back, "We hadn't expected such a complication to take place. The psionic waves are off the charts. The protective case can only block so much. The frequencies will soon bypass the barrier, and we'd witness a repeat of what happened in Pallet Town. Here, in the hospital premises. _Think of the consequences._"

"But Red—"

The doctor seemed to grow even more restless. "Please try to understand. The psionic waves are off the charts. Any more and it will cause extreme mental damage to anyone close to it, and even that is taking the dampeners into account."

"But Red—"

"Your ward is lying directly next to it. Do you think keeping him in there is any safer?"

Oak gripped the edge of the table. This was not what he had expected to happen. "What about the resonance? You said that they were going to synchronize and then—"

"They _were _supposed to, but we did not take into account any sudden rise in psionic amplitudes. None of this had shown in any of our test reports. I did tell you that this was a completely novel scenario even for myself."

"But surely you have _some _way to keep the waves from causing substantial damage until they synchronize?" Oka pleaded, desperation clear in his voice, "just until it _synchronizes?"_

Leff Flauros looked at the man with pity. Finally, the man seemed to arrive at a conclusion. "There is an alternative. If we could perhaps bring in a powerful psychic to provide additional mental barriers around your ward, then— then I believe we can contain it. For a while."

"I might have just the thing." Oak smiled.

* * *

The hospital compound was in ruins.  
  
Technically, ruins was an imprecise term for such a scenario. A more apt description would be that it was getting _obliterated _from the inside and out. The middle ground, however, was perfectly neat and tidy, as if it wasn't being destroyed with a methodical precision. Strangely enough, the more the hospital seemed to get _annihilated _by enormous-looking— _were those tendrils? — _on most sides, it kept elongating more and more, in any direction it had a chance to expand in.  
  
One would say that trying to fight a madwoman amidst this dance of creation and destruction was practically asking to be killed. But Red hadn't reached where he was now by stopping to think about things.  
  
_If only Mawile could see me now._  
  
The monster was many things, but an acute _sensor _she was not. He had wasted time and blood— _literally —_in trying to confirm that.  
  
The monster limped through the seemingly endless corridor, and not for the first time, Red thanked whatever deity was listening for this endless illusion. That line of thought automatically floated to Mia. He'd need to find a way to escape out of this place. After that, he'd have to start looking for Mia. Just because the monster had said that she was dead, didn't make that the truth.  
  
A grave expression formed on his face. The walls were beginning to tremble slightly. He recognized those signs.  
  
"Shit!"  
  
Red ducked as quickly as he could, but it wasn't fast enough to dodge the powerful shockwave pushed forward in his direction. The force propelled him out of his hideout and threw him in the middle of the corridor.  
  
_**Found you.**_  
  
Red looked up from his spread-eagled position, and immediately wished he hadn't.  
  
The monster wearing Mia's face had _cleaved _through the pillars holding the corridor together. And surrounding her were chairs, tables, broken hinges and planks, entire doors, broken glass, and concrete, levitating in the air like projectiles.  
  
And of course, all of them were _very _good at making him _very _dead if they hit him.  
  
Not-Mia gestured, and the dozens of projectiles shot at Red, all aiming to kill.  
  
…  
  
...  
  
Realizing that he wasn't quite _dead _yet, Red forced himself to open his eyes— having impulsively closed them earlier. And what he saw was—  
  
Chains.  
  
Long, golden chains.  
  
Dozens of them. No hundreds… Chains and chains and more chains, tearing their way past the walls— no that would be an erroneous description. If anything, the walls were slowly vanishing, allowing the chains to traverse through them with little if no resistance, and anchoring them just fine.  
  
A meshwork of chains.  
  
A giant, golden meshwork of chains that had intercepted every single projectile from its path. And then the floor began to shimmer almost like a rippling pool.  
  
And from within rise a tiny shard.  
  
And then another. And another yet again.  
  
The shards began gathering faster and faster, almost like the shattering of a vase, only in reverse.  
  
It came together to form an image. One which he would recognize anywhere.  
  
"Mia…" he breathed. He didn't know when he stood up or when the hospital around him had started to fracture.  
  
He didn't know when the fortress built around him had slowly started to churn around them, with himself and _her _in the middle, and the monster on the other end.  
  
And honestly, it didn't matter. He had eyes for one thing and one thing alone.  
  
_Mia.  
  
**How is this—**_  
  
"That's enough out of you," Mia raised her hand instantly. The childish innocence seemed amiss, and in its place, was a primal dictator. One that knew that her words would be _obeyed _without question.  
  
So when the monster was effectively silenced, Red had not been surprised at all.  
  
"You have dared far too much already. You are a child created of my emotions," Mia spoke almost authoritatively. Even from the distance, Red could see her bloodred eyes turn to an enraged crimson. It was… hypnotic, in a way.  
  
"Creation can never surpass the creator. And you, with your limitations, are no different."  
  
_**I'm not limited. I'm—**_  
  
"Irrelevant!" Mia's words boomed into the void all around them.  
  
Meanwhile, the hospital had been destroyed completely, and instead of the concrete floor beneath his feet, he stood in the middle of nowhere. Was he levitating? Was he flying? Was he falling? He had no clue. Was this even _real?_  
  
Red ignored the questions swirling through his mind. They could wait. Red's hand extended forward, his eyes staring at the one person he had thought he had lost.  
  
"Mia… you're alright."  
  
Mia turned, her expressions softening as she regarded him. "I am. But first, I have to take care of this little mess," She paused and cocked her head to the right, "We will continue… afterward."  
  
Mia turned back at the other creature. "It's time I take back what is mine."  
  
And then she _snapped _her fingers.  
  
The other Mia began to lose her form. Her shape was stripped from her. Her senses taken. Her very sense of being eroded. Until all that remained…  
  
Was a small black blob.  
  
Almost gently, she extended her hand towards the blob. "Come back. "You need not _suffer _any longer."  
  
The monstrosity shattered into a thousand black ribbon-like structures, before all of them spun in all sorts of patterns and danced their way towards Mia.  
  
Red saw the dark ribbons converge into Mia, slowly crawling up her body.  
  
"_I will accept you_."  
  
The ribbons were almost tender as more and more of them entered her body. Her skirt began to turn into the darkest black, becoming almost incorporeal.  
  
The magnificence of the scene was not lost on Red. It was… awe-inspiring. The feeling of the birth of something greater. A moment later, and she vanished, consumed whole by the shadow. It was like watching a whole new world be born, being constructed and destroyed at the same time. The inky blackness swallowed everything that was in it, and then in the midst of it all—  
  
Two gigantic eyes opened in the infinite space around him.  
  
Eyes as bright and crimson as his own.

* * *

His eyes snapped open.  
  
Almost instantly, he cursed as the intense bright light in the room blinded him. Taking a moment to wave off the disorientation, he instinctively took in his surroundings.  
  
_Bright white ceiling. White walls. Because of course they are._  
  
A tiny chuckle escaped him.  
  
The fogginess around his vision was slowly beginning to fade.  
  
A wall of glass. No, not glass. There were tinges of color around it.  
  
Wait.  
  
The surface rippled.  
  
_Heh… pretty._  
  
"Doctor, he's awake. He's gained consciousness." He heard someone say.  
  
_At least this time I'm not alone. Or perhaps this is another dream?_  
  
He could see several people in front of him, though the mist in front of him kept him from recognizing anyone. He tried to push himself up, when someone feminine— a nurse probably— came closer and helped him sit up straight.  
  
He blinked again. This time, things had come into focus.  
  
He could see the professor behind the glass window, standing there with a stranger in a medical suit— a doctor, who was looking at him in surprise. No, not at him, he was looking at—  
  
He looked to his right. There lying beside him, encased in some kind of transparent _dome, _was Mia. Just like he remembered her—not the magnificent, imposing presence she had taken in the endless labyrinth, but the real Mia, innocent and devoid of suffering.  
  
He couldn't help himself. His lips broke into a lopsided grin.  
  
_She was safe._  
  
And somehow, he _knew _exactly what was going to happen.  
  
He could feel it.  
  
It was about time really.  
  
And then Mia _exploded _into radiant, bright light.  
  
It was dazzling. It was so bright that it hurt his eyes, but Red would not look away. He had witnessed the magnificent form she had adorned back in his dream. He'd be damned if he looked away _now._  
  
The mass of bright light that was Mia extended out. Her body grew taller, larger, and more filled out in all ways. The two protrusions on the head morphed into a singular mesh of hair, covering her head, leaving her ears visible on either side. Her slender arms extended, as did her skirt, now completely spread out like a bridal gown. When the light faded, there she was, standing on her feet.  
  
New and absolutely beautiful.  
  
And yet different. Oh so different.  
  
Gone was the childish face, and in its stead, was a countenance that spoke of wisdom that came with maturity. Between the mantle of curled, green hair hiding the better part of her face, her bright red eyes stared at him with a familiar warmth.  
  
Gone were her white skirt, and in its place was a large, dark gown so black it appeared to be made of shadows. It drew Red's gaze towards it, and for a moment, he could see countless black tendrils, writhing around each other, contorting and twisting in all directions.  
  
He didn't know why, but he had this feeling that he was witnessing something that shouldn't be _witnessed _in the first place. Static threatened to overwhelm his vision and almost instinctively, he blinked.  
  
And just like that, they vanished. And the black gown returned.  
  
Two red horn-like structures now protruded from her chest, extending to either side. Red momentarily remembered that these structures were known to act as amplifiers, allowing the Gardevoir-line to use their powers to the greatest potential.  
  
A moment later his eyes met hers. His first pokémon. His first friend. His sister.  
  
_Family._


	22. Act 2 - Dust of Dreams | Chapter 5 - Pewter Gym, at Last!

"_They know you are special."_

Growlithe was currently running. He had been running all morning now, and even during moments when he took a break, he was still _walking. _And while physically exhausting, it gave him a lot of time to think.

He didn't know _why _things kept taking such obscure turns with him, but he certainly didn't enjoy them. He had no clue who took him to the lab, or what caused his life to be filled with such bizarre eccentricities. On that front, all he knew was that if he ever found them he would have _words _for them.

Words that would end with a lot of pain.

"_I tried very hard. But they have your blood sample and want to take you in for experimentation. The old man gave me another option but I'm not sure you'll like it."_

He knew that choosing to stay back was a bad idea. He'd have been better off if he had just escaped the moment he had gotten up.

But _nooo!_

He just _had _to get carried away by the human's kind words and his aid in healing him. Fat lot of good that did him. Just look where that landed him.

Curse his stupid growlithe instincts.

"_If you agree, I can take you with me. Um…. it's kind of like a contract. You'll get food and medicine and everything you need really. And you'll be free. Well… kind of free. You'd still have to stay with me but you'd be able to explore Kanto with me. And you'd train with my team and course, you can also choose to stay with the Professor. He's promised me that he will take care of you if you want to stay.'_

_The human continued, his eyes shining with promise and confidence, "Arcanine… The professor has one at the ranch. I've seen what your species can become. A monster that crushes everything beneath its foot. And if you fight with me I'll get you there for sure. The question is, do you want to?"_

Growlithe considered himself a pragmatic creature. And yet, at that moment, the promise in the human's words had overwhelmed his sense of pragmatism. In that one moment, he had forgotten that Red was practically a child by human standards. Instead, he had visualized the brave individual that had tried to save him at the expense of his own.

For no reason whatsoever.

Perhaps the mawile was right. This human— Red —was dopey. The _good _kind of dopey though, and Growlithe could deal with that. He'd take Red's particular brand of dopey-ness over the cynical lab-coat-men anyday.

In the end, Growlithe had ended up taking Red's offer.

That was three days ago.

And now he was cursing his own flawed judgment.

What was he thinking? That he'd gain Power? Strength?

There was nothing here that felt remotely close to that. Instead, all he could feel was the sheer exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him as he ran.

The saddest thing was, he wasn't even _going _anywhere.

Growlithe slowed down as he glared at the cause of his sufferings. This… this _mindless, _sadistic_, _human contraption. Red had called it a treadmill, an object that only reinforced the cruelty of humans to his mind. After all, why would anyone make a road that never went anywhere?

No matter how long he pushed or how fast he ran, it just never _stopped._

Though not from lack of effort. Growlithe had tried _everything._

The thing would go slowly when he walked, but whenever Growlithe tried to get the better out of it by running, it would pick up speed. He tried to outlast it, but it had run for the past two hours, with no sign of stopping. Vicious contraption it might have been but it did have intelligence. The pragmatic side of him approved.

But his patience was limited and his approval was fading with the knowledge that no matter how fast or long he ran it would just not let him move ahead. Every instinct in his body was telling him that this was unnatural. Something about it was just _wrong_. He thought he had seen human cruelty back at the lab, but this… this was on an entirely different level.

What was worse was that he had subjected himself to it willingly.

Maybe the mawile had a point after all?

"How is it going?"

His instincts getting the better of him, Growlithe twisted his neck in an attempt to snarl at the person responsible for his current misfortune. Regretfully so, he realized midway that the voice was _feminine, _and even more so, didn't belong to that crafty mawile. Instead it was—

_ **Snikt!** _

His legs tripped, unable to maintain the coordination as the infernal machine suddenly moved faster, making him fall face-first, before flying off the treadmill and slamming into the wall.

Growlithe tried _very hard _to keep the whimper from leaving his throat, not wanting to show any weakness to the intruder.

And of course, he failed. _Dismally._

"Are you… okay?"

Growlithe looked up at the familiar intruder. With the black skirt-like extension and bright crimson eyes, she looked very fetching_. _From what he understood, she was called a Gardevoir, but was actually a _Mia._

What even was a Mia anyway?

Growlithe didn't really understand, but that was probably Mawile's fault.

This… _Mia _had joined their insane, little club around three days ago. It was the very first day he had gotten to see Red after that entire forest-fire incident. If he were honest with himself, Growlithe had been somewhat conflicted about the odd group he had found himself with.

Skarmory had healed over time and despite the horrific experience, her regality hadn't suffered at all. If anything, she seemed to hold her _scars _with pride— her words, not his.

It was especially weird when considering she had no scars to begin with.

Of course, being the pragmatic and curious little growlithe that he was, he had simply pointed out the lack of scars with an honest expression. Skarmory had instead gotten _defensive _of all things and mentioned something about scars that could not be seen or something equally ridiculous.

As he said, _weird._

The scyther was at least somewhat bearable. He made a lot of sense in some cases, but was equally bullheaded in others. No matter how much Mawile tried to explain the trainer concept to him, the stupid bug refused to think of Red as anything less than his _master. _Mawile had gone so far as to scare Scyther with stories of a certain notebook that Red seemed to have that was used for torture during training. She was convinced that it was some sort of cursed object and the fact that the said notebook had mysteriously survived that massive forest fire only seemed to validate that in her mind.

Growlithe would have laughed if not for Skarmory. He hadn't seen the bird look anything but regal and the downright uncomfortable expression she was making bothered him greatly.

Perhaps there was something truly sinister about that notebook? Back then he hadn't understood, but between his experience as an experiment and his experience on the treadmill, he realized that Mawile had, in fact, not been lying to him.

Humans were truly cruel creatures.

Of the shellder… well, he didn't know what to think of it, to be honest. The thing kept itself sunk inside the fountain for days, liberating water bubbles for no reason at all— often in the middle of the night. Growlithe had once seen an identical shellder _inside _the bubble before he had blinked and then it vanished. He tried not to think too much about it.

Besides, Shellder was weird. Even Mawile agreed with him on that, and wasn't that alarming?

And the less said about the trickster mawile the better.

Group of lunatics indeed.

And then, _she _joined in.

Growlithe had exercised a lot of caution and propriety that day. He had _absolutely _not started salivating.

"Red has gotten everyone lunch. I was asked to fetch you."

Had he mentioned that she had a very sweet voice too?

"Uhm…. are you coming?"

Growlithe let out a soft woof, before pulling himself up from the floor. Meanwhile, the gorgeous fairy levitated herself into the air, and flew out, leaving him enthralled at the sight.

When she did the flying thing, she looked impeccably graceful.

When he tried to jump, he had fallen nose-first onto the floor.

He was totally not speaking from experience.

Giving one last look at the diabolical machine that was responsible for his latest bruise, Growlithe let out a cursed whimper and walked out.

Being free sure was _tough. _And painful too.

* * *

"This is really good," Delia commented, biting into the sandwich with relish. "I didn't know my son was such a great cook."

"It is," Oak agreed. "I didn't know you could get avocado here of all places. I thought they were only available in Celadon."

Red grinned softly. Ever since he had woken up from that emotional rollercoaster, life had been full of activity, for both himself and his family. Of course, Mawile had gotten first dibs and rushed into his arms the moment she knew that he was awake. It had taken several tests before the doctors had declared him mentally fit, which was kind of surprising considering everything he had gone through.

Not that he had any reason to look a gift ponyta in the mouth.

"I was surprised too," Red smiled, "I found a grocery store selling those when we went out shopping and remembered how Mia loves avocado sandwiches." He chuckled, ignoring the blush on Mia's face as she sat beside him and munched in silence. He idly glanced at Mawile who was lovingly caressing her new poképuff jar, wiping off the imaginary dirt from its cap.

_Some things never change, _Red mused, rolling his eyes.

"Did you get everything?" Oak inquired, "Most of your supplies probably didn't survive the fire. Best to restock when you are in a city. Cerulean will take a while you know."

That bit was true. With the exception of his notebook, his medicine case and some equipment, most of his stuff had been burnt to ashes, including the tent. He had spent an entire day with his mother, shopping for essential commodities that he'd need, now that he had decided to continue his journey.

It had taken him seven long hours to return home.

In hindsight, _not _taking Mia and Mawile with him might have been a better option. It seemed like, despite her evolution, Mia was still the picky little thing he remembered, and took her sweet time before deciding what to purchase for herself.

Mawile though…

Red shuddered.

It had been really mortifying when a shopkeeper had come running after them, claiming that Mawile had stolen one of his poképuff jars. The real embarrassment though, was that after she was caught, Mawile had tried to _pay _the retailer with a single poképuff from the very jar she stole.

"Red?"

Oak's voice shook him out of his reverie. "Wha— oh, sorry. I was planning something else, actually. There's something I want to try before going to Cerulean."

The older man tilted his head in curiosity.

"When I was shopping yesterday, I found an advertisement about this thing called Mt. Moon Adventure Course."

Delia shook her head in mock despair. "And here I was thinking you missed that."

"You were trying _too hard _for that, mom," Red threw her a cheeky grin.

Mia chuckled softly.

"Oh, _that one,_" Oak's eyes glinted in surprise. Seemingly ignoring Delia's good-natured frown, he went on, "it's something Pewter City offers as a tourist attraction."

"That's strange," Delia wondered audibly. "I've never heard of that one before."

"Because it used to be a private coaching academy before. It only opened itself for tourists pretty recently."

"Huh? What did they do?" Red asked, curious.

"Train people to survive in hazardous conditions by running them ragged through the mountainous terrain in a controlled setting. Very useful for those who want to be explorers, though a tad expensive. It could cost you a good amount of cash."

"Cash I have," Red answered a bit too ardently before he remembered something. "About that..."

"Yes, it's safe to treat it like it's yours," Oak answered with a heavy sigh.

"Like my own—"

"Yes."

"And I won't have to return it ever—"

"Yes."

"And I can use it without—"

"For the last time Red," Oak replied, rubbing his forehead in annoyance, "you need not return it. Use it as your own."

"...Okay." Red took a deep breath. He had gotten a conniption when he had checked his account, after paying for most of his necessities and equipment. Delia had been rather stubborn about paying for everything but he had stayed firm.

That was when he had checked his current balance.

And nearly fell off his chair.

"I _still _cannot believe I have _three hundred thousand _in my account," Red mumbled in a half-skeptical, half-elated voice. "Like _why _would anyone even send me that much money?"

"I told you," Oak rubbed the tip of his nose. "Mr. Waterflower realized that his daughter had broken a major law and wanted to… make amends. My advice is to not go overboard and not waste it on meaningless things. It's a large amount, so spend it wisely."

Red bobbed his head. "Sure thing."

"I think you can give him some leeway there, professor," Delia vouched for him. "He has been managing everything quite fine all these years," she paused, her expression temporarily flickering between sadness and resignation, "I'm sure he'll manage it quite fine."

"See?" Red jumped up at the show of confidence. "You should trust me a little more, old man."

Oak rolled his eyes at that.

"Say," Red continued after a moment's thought, "how much would a dragon cost?"

Delia desperately tried to hold back from her sudden coughing fit, before twisting her neck to look at him, almost in indignation at being proven wrong so fast.

"...what?"

"Nothing," Oak drawled, obviously trying to keep himself from snickering.

Even Mia began to giggle, much to Mawile's confusion.

"What?" Red questioned again.

"_Why _would you want to purchase a dragon?" Delia almost snapped in annoyance.

"Because they are cool?" came the honest reply.

Oak shook his head in resignation. "Sometimes I forget you're still a teen barely out on your journey."

"What's that got to do with me purchasing a dragon? You give out charmander as starters every year, and they are—"

"Draconic, I know," Oak went on agreeably, "but that's not why charmander are chosen. They are chosen because they have three-stage evolutions, and grow pretty fast, even compared to most other fire-types. They are also not too difficult to train. And no, despite their outer appearances, they are not quite… draconic."

"If it looks like a dragon and flies like a dragon—" Red began.

"Doesn't make it a dragon." Oak finished for him. "A creature is called a dragon only when it meets a number of requirements. Charizard, despite its external appearance, fails at that, which is why it's a fire type."

"Completely unfair," Red muttered.

Oak chuckled at his impertinence. "Either way, I should remind you that rookie trainers aren't allowed to purchase dragons. And remember to get it from official sources when you are ready. Remember what I told you about novice trainers that get duped by sleazy salesmen over rare pokémon?"

"They ripoff trainers by charging exorbitant prices for rare pokémon. Like with the shiny magikarp!" Red finished for him, remembering the story the old man had shared with him. Apparently, some trainer had been duped into purchasing a shiny magikarp for ten thousand bucks, promising a direct evolution into a rare gyarados that could fly.

"Exactly!" Oak seemed delighted that he remembered his little story.

Red struggled to find a good answer for a bit, before continuing, "but well I can always get myself a char—" He glanced at growlithe again.

_Will it … will it even be worth it? Arcanine are apex fire-types. Shouldn't I just get a dragon?_

"Tell you what," Oak said, as if sensing Red's inner turmoil, "why don't we wait till you're a Mid-Intermediate. That way you'd be legally allowed to own a dragon. Worst case scenario, you can _always _buy one, right?"

"Stop making sense old man."

Oak rolled his eyes.

"Aren't you both counting torchic's before they're hatched? He still needs to win his first badge." Delia put in her two cents.

"Easily done," Red refuted proudly, "I'll begin training right away. I want to get the Boulder Badge before moving on."

"A capital idea," Oak clapped his hands, "me and your mother can even watch. Perhaps Delia will be more comfortable after seeing you fight?"

Red glanced at his mother's face with a searching expression.

"I— I suppose."

"Then it's settled," Oak began." The both of us will—"

"Wait— Wait a second!, Why would you guys want to attend anyway? Don't you need to get back to work?"

"So you don't want us here now, is that how it is?" Oak asked, pretending to be hurt.

"Whatever," Red said, a little miffed, "You've already made up with your mind. You're gonna be there no matter what I say aren't you."

"Busted."

"We have an invitation to an event here in Pewter next week," Delia spoke up, "we'll be here till then. Perhaps you'd like to attend?"

Red blinked. "What event?"

"It's about..." Oak began, only to stop himself midway, "about something interesting. Lots of people from all over the world will be attending it. Even Gym leaders from other cities will be there."

"That big, eh?" Red wondered aloud, munching on his sandwich. "Wait… will Pewter Gym even be open?"

"It's going to close after the delegates come in. You'd have to challenge him in the next five days, or wait till the event finishes.."

"Five?" Red winced.

Oak blinked. "I'd have thought that after so much experience, challenging your first gym would be a cakewalk."

"It's not that," Red did his best to not look shifty. "I was intending to challenge him for a certification battle."

" A… a certification battle?" Oak blinked in surprise. "I must remind you, there is a reason why rookies don't take certification battles. Most people who do that are Mid-Intermediates or more."

Red understood his concern. Most trainers followed the standard gym-routes, which allowed them to try subsequent gyms and rise up the trainer hierarchy in time. It was good and suited most people. In essence, the gym circuit was a training-circuit that produced large numbers of High-Intermediate trainers.

That said, it was _slow. _A trainer could win three of his first three gym battles and still be a High Rookie. It was only the fourth gym that required you to be Low-Intermediate.

Slow, and suited most people. Just not him.

Not after all he had been through.

In contrast, a _certification battle _would fit perfectly for his needs. Unlike their standard counterpart, a certification was aimed at acquiring a specific trainer level. To participate in a conference all that needed to happen was for a trainer to be at the High-Intermediate level. Whether that happened in one gym or eight was irrelevant.

In addition, these certifications were required for other jobs, especially for explorers. Unlike conferences which just tested strength, Gyms tested your ability to defeat a pokémon of similar strength in its own environment. For instance, an explorer who would be working in or around water bodies would require a High-Intermediate certification from a water-type gym.

Also, to prevent people from challenging the gyms without pause, a five hundred dollar deposit was charged, and would be refunded should the challenge be successful. Further, the trainer has to wait two full weeks before he could challenge the gym again.

That being said, it was fast, and if one went about it the wrong way, _expensive _as well.

Not to mention the _other _casualty.

In essence, once you had been certified at a certain level, subsequent gym battles could not be taken at a level lower than that. Once a trainer had chosen the path of certification battles, he _could not _return to the standard process.

"I was already ranked at High Rookie at the Trainer Square," Red clarified. "I've grown and so has my team and I need to see that. At this point, it's Low-Intermediate or nothing."

"Don't you think you're being a little too hasty, son?" Delia asked. "You can simply try for a standard no-handicap badge, you know?" She looked at Oak, presumably for support.

His response was anything but.

"Why low? Why not mid?"

"Professor," Delia chastised, "please don't encourage him."

Oak ignored her. "To get a Mid-Intermediate ranking from a gym, you need to beat 4 such pokémon in their native environment. You are allowed to use a total of six pokémon. You should be able to clear that."

It was possible to gain such a ranking with a single powerful pokémon and also with a team of weaker pokémon so long as the challenge was won. Which was why—

"Maybe Skarmory or Scyther can deal with that kind of challenge, but the rest of my team, as they are now, cannot. Maybe I'll try at the gym in Cerulean."

"Makes sense," Oak said approvingly "It's good to know one's limits."

"It's not about limits," Red countered. "I don't want to keep winning battles because of a few stronger or more experienced pokémon. When I take the Mid-Intermediate rank, I want my team to be ready for that. Every single one of them."

That surprised Delia. Oak, on the other hand, had a meaningful smile on his lips.

"I see," Oak smiled, "Even Shellder?"

The smile dropped from Red's face. "Well… almost my whole team. And Shellder is getting better. No pokémon that underestimates him has ever done well."

"You seem to have given this a fair amount of thought," Oak murmured, "but in this case, I have to disagree with you here."

"Huh?" Red asked, flabbergasted. "Why?"

"Because only Mid-Intermediates or higher can truly experience the Mount Moon Adventure Course. Low-Intermediates can apply, but they are barred from taking part in the more… interesting exercises. Then again, a lot of tourists do sign up just for that."

"If they don't participate, what do they do?"

Oak cupped his chin. "Well, sightseeing for one. Catching rare pokémon for another. There are a lot of subterranean pokémon down there. Perhaps you could catch something interesting for me?"

"Hang on!" Red exclaimed, "What about learning to be an explorer?"

"Spelunking often has its own share of dangers, and many suffer injuries because of their inexperience."

"Spelunking?" Red echoed.

"Injuries?" Delia croaked.

Oak chuckled at their reaction. "Cave exploration. Also, Delia, there is always the possible issue of injury on these kinds of trips. Though the people guiding them are experts and it's not likely."

"Injuries…" Delia murmured dolefully.

"Well, yes. Traveling through forestland and traveling through mountains are very different things. As it is, the adventure course will teach him how to circumnavigate through dangerous terrains. That being said, even the sightseeing would be beneficial. In fact," The old man's eyes brightened as he looked at Red, "I wonder if Gary would be interested in this as well."

"... What?"

"You wouldn't mind him joining you in this one, correct?"

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Red stopped him, hands raised up in alarm, "let's not be hasty here. I still have to win the certification battle before any of this can happen. As for Gary," he frowned a bit, "what's he up to again?"

Oak's grin widened. "Just finished his fifth badge. He's currently headed to Ecruteak for his sixth."

_So roughly Mid-Intermediate as well. _Red translated.

He tried hard not to frown. After starting his journey, he had slowly started to ignore the competitiveness he had shared back in school with the old man's grandson. But the fact that Gary was already on his fifth badge while he was still a High-Rookie...

"I'll challenge Brock for a Mid-Intermediate ranking," He decided aloud.

The stare Oak gave him was full of skepticism. "What happened to trying for Low?"

"If I'm spending the cash and time for this course, I don't want to waste it on _sightseeing_. I'll train with my team harder, and win". Red paused, before finishing somewhat hypocritically "Facing stronger opponents will be good for the rest of my team anyway."

"A lot of people would call that being dangerously overconfident," Delia warned.

"Maybe," Red agreed solemnly even as he took another bite from his sandwich, "but I won't know until I try."

"Your mother has a point," Oak advised, "fighting rock-types as an Intermediate is far more difficult than fighting them as a rookie. Most trainers from Pallet don't have that problem because they choose Pewter as their first gym. And while beating a couple of geodude might be simple, especially when Brock is going easy on them, you'd do well not to underestimate him."

An image of that terrifying monstrosity called _golem _came to mind. He involuntarily shuddered at that. "No way old man," he breathed, "I'm not going to take _any _rock-type casually."

"Ah…" The professor paused knowingly. " Well, it's not going to be quite as bad as what you faced in the forest."

Red snorted "Glad to see your sense of humor is still okay."

"Always. Anyhow, what are you going to use in the battle? I doubt your growlithe is ready for a fight."

Growlithe let out a whimper at that.

Red rolled his eyes. The more he spent time with the fire-type, the more he came to understand it. For something that could tear a machoke open with severe ruthlessness, Growlithe was a rather pacifistic creature— not wanting to battle _at all, _if he had his way. At the same time, he chased strength desperately, undergoing its training almost religiously— far longer than Red had instructed him to.

The poor thing had spent much of its life in a cage, or so they inferred through its atrophied legs. It was much slower than a normal Growlithe. And yet, it spent hours on the treadmill every day.

Red sighed.

Here he was, with a team of six, and _none _of them had been caught by him.

He wondered what that said about him as a trainer.

Not that it was his fault. If anything, he was being punished for doing the right thing.

"..."

Or perhaps he was more influenced by Mawile's way of thinking than he believed.

He took another bite of his sandwich.

"I'm going to use my entire team. That's the point of a certification battle, right? I'm allowed six team members to face Brock's four?"

"Red, I highly _doubt _Shellder counts as a team member," Delia interjected. "If only you had a proper water-type…"

Mawile seemed to perk up at her words before she smacked Shellder in the shell.

"Mawile, stop bullying Shellder." Red replied half-heartedly. It hadn't actually garnered a reaction from it, but that was beside the point.

"Even your pokémon know better," Delia muttered.

Red decided he must have imagined the sadistic grin that his starter sent towards his mother. The sudden shaking of her black jaw must have been his imagination as well.

That thing felt way too _alive _to be just a jaw, but it was best not to think of some things too much.

"Even so, you only have a team of five," Oak scrunched his face, "unless you want to include Mia. Are you going to make her fight?"

"Naturally."

Even his mother looked at him in surprise.

"...what?"

More staring.

"Is something wrong about that?"

"I thought you didn't want Mia to battle. That was why you left her behind." Oak replied, in a somewhat cool voice.

"Well, things are different now. She's… evolved."

"And that changes things?"

Red tilted his head. "It doesn't? But she— "

"Red," Delia seemed to arrive at a conclusion, given her tone of voice, "you do know that gardevoir are pacifists? They _don't _battle. Ever."

That made him pause. "...Ever?"

He ignored the growing sensation of uncertainty in his mind. It wasn't his own.

"Then how do they survive in the wild?" Red felt an odd sensation gnawing at his mind. He knew Mia was thinking about it too, but she had no clue. After all, she had been tiny when his mother had taken her from her home.

"By making the attacker _not _want to attack," Delia was the one that answered, "They make you feel happy. Content. You cannot attack If all you want to do is dance and sing, can you?"

"Huh? Then how did you get her?"

Delia chuckled. "I didn't. You did."

"..."

"Remember how you gave her the pastry?" Delia laughed heartily. "When I told my colleagues about how my son had caught a baby ralts with a pastry, they were dumbfounded too."

Red blinked.

Then blinked again. "I… took Mia out of her garden?"

A strange sensation hit him in the head. He wasn't very sure but the closest he could do was associate it with the word— _Duh!_

"Anyway, that's beside the point. Why do _you _want Mia to battle? Surely between the rest of your team, you can challenge Brock and win, right?" Delia goaded him.

"It's cause she," Red paused, glancing at his sister in all but blood "She _wants _to."

"She wants— what do you mean Mia wants to?" Delia exploded.

Oak, on the other hand, seemed a bit more speculative. "Red, _how _do you know that she wants to battle?"

"She told me."

Oak blinked. "You can talk to her?"

Red shook his head. "Not talk. I guess it's more like… feel. Her emotions about whatever she's thinking. It's kind of odd, to have someone else's emotions in my mind, but not really that difficult to identify what's mine and what's hers." He pointed a thumb at Mia, who blushed for some reason.

It was something he had discovered after waking up. An effect of the _connection _he had with her, or something like that.

Emotions weren't the best way to explain cold, hard facts.

He really didn't understand the underlying mechanics of it all. All he knew is that a connection, a _bond _existed, and allowed him to _feel _Mia's emotions— a primal sense of understanding that made him privy to her innermost feelings. It was both captivating and yet, felt like a breach of her privacy.

Of course, Mia seemed to think otherwise, but that was probably because she wasn't human.

At first, he had thought she had become like Kaz— capable of telepathy over very short distances. Now though, it seemed that she had a lot left to grow in that field. As far as emotions were concerned however, her range was much higher.

He had sensed her even when he had been shopping with his mother.

After all the years of trying to interpret thousands of combinations of the general '_kirl'_, the somewhat grumpy '_li'_, the rather exuberant '_liaaa' _and finally the over-the-top '_irrrr', _the ability to actually understand her was a treat for his mind.

Strange and new, and yet alluring at the same time.

"You can sense her emotions…" Oak trailed off, probably wondering about the nature of their odd connection. Well that, or wondering why all oddities of the universe seemed to think that Red was their new poster boy.

Not that he could blame the old man. It was just his stupid luck.

His eyes shifted to Mia again, before taking a cursory glance at his entire team.

_And yet I'd change none of it._

"We did think that was possible," His mother said abruptly, leaning forward with interest. "Some sort of metaphysical link. So no thoughts at all? Just emotions?"

"... yes." Red said carefully. "Just emotions."

"Ah."

"That's interesting to know."

Given the looks his mother and Oak were giving each other, it was probably more than just _interesting._

"And Mia told you she wants to— I mean, you felt that she wants to fight?" Delia questioned.

"Voir!" Mia spoke up, giving her consent.

"Good to know," Delia murmured.

"Is it really that rare for a gardevoir to fight?" Red asked, honestly surprised at their reaction.

"You'd be fighting Brock," Oak answered with a grin. "See his reaction with your own eyes."

"I guess I will," Red grinned with confidence, "but if I'm trying for a mid-level rank, I need to up my training first."

He looked around. "By the way, has anyone seen my notebook?"

The sudden groans let out by his team must have been his imagination.

* * *

As someone that had survived Paul for an entire year, Scyther was no stranger to training_. _In fact, he had actually been looking forward to it. The eccentric bunch that called themselves Red's team were probably the strangest creatures Scyther ever had the misfortune to meet.

Literally nothing made sense about them.

Or Red, for that matter.

It had been three days since Red had officially welcomed him as part of the team— a welcome change from the constant bouts of uncertainty. As someone that had been trained and rejected by another human, Scyther couldn't help but feel a bit out of place in the midst of the herd. All of them, even the Shellder, had been captured by Red— regardless of whatever tripe that mawile creature seemed to blabber —and all of them had strong connections with him.

Him though? It was uncertain and Scyther was a bit worried that he'd be taken away by those League humans Paul went on and on about. After all, Red hadn't captured him, but taken him down like a pest.

And while Scyther believed that his actions against the other man had kind of… proved his worth, he was unsure if Red had even noticed it.

Not that Scyther could blame him.

So it was to his surprise that the first words that came out of the humans words were—

"_Thank you."_

The human had thanked him and wasn't that unusual. It was weird and strange but in a good way. Paul had trained him, turned him into the fighter that he was today despite Scyther's inherent weaknesses, but he had never _thanked _him.

It made Scyther a little confused, to be honest.

The rest of his words had gone above Scyther's head. He was still trying to process Red's initial statement. Nevertheless, when Red had taken out a pokéball, and _offered _it to him, Scyther hadn't wasted a second.

Which brought him to the present moment.

It was the first day of their _official _training. Over the past three days, he had allowed everyone, save growlithe to loiter around, almost aimlessly. The mawile had spent her time religiously counting her poképuffs— and she was always extra careful when he was around. It was almost like she expected him to snatch her precious jar full of—

_Oh._

Well, come to think of it, her actions made a good deal of sense. He had _stolen _her jar back in the forest after all. That said, they weren't _that _great. Or perhaps it had something to do with his own preferences regarding food?

As for the rest of the team, well, frankly speaking, the new fairy scared him. Something about her was… _unnatural_. When you got past that, she was quite soft-spoken, and _loved _to talk about Red. _All the time._ Wouldn't shut up about him, in fact.

On the other hand, the skarmory was doing a perfectly fine job of ignoring him for no reason at all.

And the less said about the shellder the better.

Eccentric bunch, indeed.

It was almost fitting that they had _Red _as their trainer. Perhaps it was a case of like attracting like?

"Alright everyone," Red began with a loud clap, "it's time we resume our training where we left off. Mawile if you would?"

For some reason, the mawile looked deathly pale, almost as if she were about to be inflicted with some kind of horrible malady. She was carrying a thin paper notebook with a brownish cover in her jaw, and with the way she kept on twitching, Scyther wondered _how _the notebook had managed to stay in one piece.

_Interesting._

"Thank you," Red took the notebook, oblivious to his starter's twitchings. "We have our first gym battle ahead of us. This is my… first gym as well, so I cannot say I have a lot of experience with it, but from what I have seen, it shouldn't be very different from the battles we have experienced before."

Skarmory scoffed.

"No it isn't going to be as easy as that Samurai, Skarmory," the human went on, never noticing how Skarmory had seemingly paused.

Come to think of it, Red had interpreted her words very accurately. _Too _accurately, in fact. Weren't humans unable to understand pokémon and everything?

_Very interesting._

"Brock is a gym leader. He's not going to try to kill us with his pokémon, and we won't try to either." Red looked pointedly at his starter. "Are you listening, Mawile?"

Mawile scoffed and looked away. At least she was listening now. It was a great improvement from the last time he scolded her— she had stolen a poképuff jar, from what he gathered —and she had ignored him by singing loudly. From what he gathered, she was upset at her trainer's hypocritical behavior. Something about telling her not to steal and then stealing back the poképuff jar that she stole.

Paul would never condone such behavior and from what he gathered in his time with humans, no trainer would. Just another point that showed how strange his new master was.

"Anyway," their trainer continued. "We show our strength, and we defeat our opponents. But We. Do. Not. Kill. _Please."_

Scyther almost sniggered at the look of surprise Growlithe gave Red. From what he understood, the puppy was raised isolated and experimented upon. He seemingly had no clue about _training _and _battles. _Scyther briefly wondered what the growlithe would do when put into a real fight.

Not to look down or anything, but it was just a _growlithe _after all. He has defeated tons of them and that was when he just started out.

"We're going to start with the moves that you have perfected. After that, we will be working on some new moves I've gotten for you, and we'll try to get them in working order over the next couple of days. We need to be in our best form if we want to defeat Brock and his team of rock-types."

Rock-types.

He said _rock-types._

A jarring sensation hit Scyther. Rock-types. Gym. Brock. How had he not noticed this before? Was it because he had stayed inside the hospital premises all this while?

This was _Pewter City._

This was where Paul had challenged Brock over something called an Elite-level battle. Scyther couldn't have cared less about it but he remembered that bit.

It was hard not to, what with the way his previous trainer went on and on about beating some Brandon human or something.

Paul was pretty repetitive that way.

This was also the place he had fought his last battle as one of Paul's pokémon. He had been utterly _humiliated _by that creature Paul called a lycanroc. Paul had literally _kicked _him out of the team, calling him a useless waste of space.

He staggered, the feelings of betrayal, hopelessness and self-loathing shooting up his spine. He had come full circle, Scyther mused. This was the place where everything had ended, and this was the place he'd have to pass through if he wanted a fresh start.

Or, he'd be looked down as weak a second time, and then banished to the forest.

And it would start all over again.

"Scyther?"

Scyther looked up. Strangely enough, Red was looking at him. Yet, his eyes didn't contain the irritation that he had come to expect— no wait, that was Paul. This was Red.

Red, not Paul. Scyther reminded himself.

He grunted in acknowledgment.

"If you are not feeling well, you can rest for a bit."

_And make myself seem like a waste? No way._

He shook his head in denial.

"Scyther," Red asked, this time with a bit more concern, "I want to win the gym battle, but not at the cost of my team's suffering. Go rest for a bit, and you can continue when you're feeling better."

Scyther shook his head again. Red's words— they sounded too good to be true. It was a hoax. It had to be. It was probably a ploy to reveal his weaknesses. Cast him as the worthless one. Banish him away. Paul had done that. Red would do the same.

Not again.

He'd win. Or he'd die trying.

Letting out a defiant screech, he shook his head. Again.

And again.

"You…." Red seemed a little wary of him, "want to train?"

Nod.

The human swallowed. Was he _afraid?_

"Well, fine I suppose." Red murmured.

Scyther looked around. He could see the not-so-subtle shift in Mawile's posture.

He could see Skarmory narrowing her eyes slightly.

He could see the new fairy— Mia —purse her lips tightly.

_Do they fear me? Afraid that I'd attack— attack Red?_

And here he thought he was part of the team. And even, even after all this, he was still the outsider.

He supposed he should have seen that coming.

With a sigh, Scyther gave up.

_I should just—_

"— might as well join in then."

— _stay away from— WHAT?_

Scyther looked up, a little dumbfounded. Red apparently had caught onto his expression.

"If you don't want to rest, might as well take part in the training," the _enigmatic _human went on, with that damnable, confusing smile of his, "after all, we wouldn't want you to slack off, would we?"

Scyther let out a screech in acknowledgment.

Perhaps there was some hope for him after all.

* * *

Pewter City was, after all said and done, a massive juxtaposition of antiquity and technology. Calling it a _city _was actually a misnomer, considering that it was basically a different nation in itself. Built in the cradle of the Mountains of the Moon— one of the largest mountain ranges on the mainland, this place was referred to as Anak Gunung in the local tongue, meaning Child of the Mountain.

The entire region was divided into three main parts. The largest of them was an enormous citadel, crafted out of rock, forming an architectural wonder known as the Benteng. Originally built as a large platform to serve as a general marketplace, the Benteng had now become an architectural tourist spot that was heavily frequented with tourists for those that wanted a glimpse of how the native population lived. It was a place heavily populated with all sorts of antique shops, and significantly contributed to the annual revenue. The academy that offered the Mt Moon Adventure Course was also located in this segment.

The second was a reticulum of tiny doors and hallways spreading out through an entire mountain called the Kush. This was, from what he understood, the home of the native populace. Tourists weren't allowed there, and the place had sanctorums built in honor of their serpentine god. Despite its architectural grandeur, the entire place was off-limits to anyone not of the tribal population. The doors were apparently gateways to individual homes where the people lived.

The third and final part was the _Pewter City _itself. Originally a settlement composed of archaeologists, researchers, miners and excavator equipment, the compound had slowly grown over a period of twenty years to become what it was today. A simple laboratory next to a decrepit power station had morphed into one of the largest technological wonders in Kanto and Johto.

It was in this region that the Pewter General Hospital, as well as the other administrative offices, were located. But today, Red had eyes for just one singular edifice— his destination after a week of relaxation and training.

The Pewter City Gym.

At first sight, the institution seemed to reflect _everything _Pewter city stood for. Constructed out of a single monolith, the building had a giant compound carved out of stone imitating the design of the temples he had seen while at the Benteng, only larger and spread out across a larger area. The frontage had a large seal depicting what seemed like a draconic serpentine creature with some inscriptions engraved upon it, presumably in the native tongue. The outer gateway stood tall on six pillars, three on each side, with elaborate architectural depictions that would have only been the work of master craftsmen. On top of the pillars were large pedestals, sprawled out with two figures on top— a human and a pokémon. He couldn't recognize any of the people, but some of the pokémon were fairly recognizable.

_A rhyperior, a golem, a donphan, and is that a TYRANITAR?_

Making a note to himself to study more about the city's past, Red walked past the hallway, stepping into the main courtyard. A set of stairs led him into the interior of the building only to find himself with a large block of stone blocking his way forward.

He chuckled. This slab of stone had confused the heck out of him when he had arrived at this place three days ago to apply for a battle.

Apparently the natives of Pewter were big believers of the concept of 'stating purpose for action'. Following that logic, an outsider needed to clearly state his intentions before expecting entry into their place of work or residence. Brock, as the gym-leader and the current chief of the tribes, had used a similar mechanism for his gym.

"Red Ketchum. Here to challenge the Gym Leader for a battle."

And just like that, the slab hissed as it separated from the middle, revealing a passage for him to walk through.

Red walked in, and just like his previous experience, found himself in a completely different world.

Gone were the rocky decorations and the architectural ingenuity. The place he currently stood could be best described as an ultra-modern building with some of the most advanced technology in place. Walking up to the receptionist's desk, he submitted his pokédex.

"Red Ketchum for a certification battle."

The receptionist, Zinnia from what he remembered her name was, took the pokédex from his hands and connected it to the terminal. She hit a couple of keys on the terminal, before looking up and addressing him.

"Everything is in order, Mr. Ketchum. You'll be allowed to use six pokémon, so please sort things out when you go there. The gym leader will be meeting you shortly. Please go to the Challenger's Room. It is the eighth door on the right."

Red gratefully took the pokédex from her hands, before walking towards his destination, following the signs.

"I hope I'm not making a mistake with this." He told himself.

It was a pity that he couldn't release any of his pokemon — or Mia for that matter— until he entered the battle premises. Something about security protocols and all that.

He found the room, and entered it cautiously. The insides were an entirely different matter altogether.

The entire place seemed to be cloaked in silvery metal, with several screens attached at different places along the walls. He walked up to a podium that he presumed was the challenger's place to stand, while an identical podium stood on the opposite side. They were separated by a large battle arena, easily a hundred feet in diameter. He found a headset waiting for him at his podium, reminding him of his battle against Ashley at the Square, and wore it without hesitation.

And yet, Brock wasn't there to be seen.

"I suppose I should take whatever time I get." He murmured. He had already given his version of a pep-talk to his team before walking to the gym. He wasn't sure how effective it had been, given Mawile had been munching poképuffs all the while, and Shellder had been… throwing up bubbles.

He suppressed an instinctive desire to facepalm at the thought.

At least Growlithe and Skarmory had given him a fairly interested gaze, while Scyther seemed stuck in something between determination and fear.

Red hadn't really given the latter that much thought.

The last had been Mia. Red wasn't exactly sure how her battle would go on, but one thing was given. He needed to be careful— very careful— if it came to using _that _ability.

"This might," he found himself saying, "this is really a terrible idea."

"Ah I see you have arrived," a voice echoed from the other side of the chamber.

Red looked up and found Brock, the Pewter Gym leader, walking up to his podium.

"You must be the professor's ward."

Red nodded.

"They are watching the battle you know. Put on a good show."

Red stared at him blankly.

"I've heard many good things about you from the rangers. But a Mid-Intermediate challenge? Usually, it's one's sixth gym that accepts a challenge on this level. But to do so on your very first— Don't you think this is a little… overboard?"

_Yes, this is a little overboard._

"I… I think I stand a good chance. A lot of things depend on this." he stuttered a bit, "but I won't step away from it now."

"Well," the gym-leader chuckled, "far be it for me to underestimate the passion of new challengers. That said, I must warn you. There is a reason why people challenge this gym as rookies, and not as Intermediates."

_Yep. I already know that._

"I know. I have seen the might of rock-types."

"The golem, yes, I know," Brock chuckled. "It's currently under my care. I'm sure it regrets whatever atrocities it committed under that terrorist's orders."

_I'm sure Misty's feraligatr will be grateful for its regret._

"Before we begin, let me just remind you about the rules. As a gym-leader, I am allowed four pokémon, their forms and moves limited to the mid-intermediate level. As a challenger, you are allowed to use a maximum of six pokémon of varying levels. Substitutions are allowed for the challenger. The battle ends when one of us is left without a pokemon that can battle. Do you consent?"

Red nodded. He had already read up on the rules the previous day when applying for it.

"As is tradition, I will choose my pokémon first."

"Fine with me," Red muttered, as he watched Brock select a pokéball and toss it onto the field.

"Let us begin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	23. Act 2 - Dust of Dreams | Chapter 6 - The Legend of Red

"_Sir, you have a formal request for a gym battle."  
  
Brock Pebblemann let out a soft groan. There had been a few moments in the last couple of years in which the desire to use his gym-leader position to procrastinate unimportant jobs became a significant temptation.  
  
This was one of those moments._  
  
"_A gym-battle, now?" He looked up at Zinnia who stood before him, the familiar annoying half-smirk floating on her face. Another staff member might not have displayed her emotions so openly, but being his niece, Zinnia acted significantly more privileged than his other assistants._  
  
"_Yes, sir."_  
  
"_Reschedule it. I really cannot afford any distractions at this point."  
  
Relaxing back into the chair, Brock closed his eyes, nursing the small headache that he had been dealing with since morning._  
  
"_I've already pushed most of your obligations after the MU event. But this one is an unusual request. I wanted to run it by you first."  
  
Brock opened a single eye._  
  
"_It's for a certification battle. Mid-Intermediate."_  
  
"_And that is unusual, how?_  
  
"_The applicant is one Red Ketchum. A rookie trainer. While an intermediate battle request coming from such a trainer is unusual, what really caught my attention was his sponsor—"_  
  
"_Samuel Oak," Brock interrupted with a frown. "That name has been popping up way too many times for comfort."_  
  
"_So, should I reschedule?" Zinnia asked._  
  
"_No," Brock raised a hand, "the Champion has a standing deal with Professor Oak over the event. We don't want to sour the ongoing negotiations because of something so… trivial."  
  
Not to mention his own request to the old man for Forrest's apprenticeship._  
  
"_Then what shall I say?"  
  
Brock cupped his chin. "Try to fit him in my schedule sometime this week. "_  
  
"_You have time on Friday. Will that do?"_  
  
"_Sure," Brock answered absently, his attention already drawn back to the file on his table.  
  
After the entire debacle with the experimental-hybrid and the wayward scyther,_ _it was hard not to take note of this aspiring trainer. And that wasn't even taking into account the entire affair over Viridian forest and Team Rocket.  
  
He had done a brief background check on the kid, and what he had found was just fascinating.  
  
The teen had spent several years working as an assistant on the Oak Ranch— more than enough experience enough to qualify as a junior breeder at any recognized institute.  
  
Then there had been an accident involving a pikachu which resulted in third-degree electrical burns. All associated costs were covered by Oak himself. From that and the concern that the professor had shown the kid over the last few days, it could be safely assumed that the kid shared a sort of familial bond with the former Champion. And his actual family— his mother — was no joke either. She was a senior researcher at the Parthenon, one of the most exclusive facilities in all of Kanto.  
  
Though the choices he made seemed quite questionable.  
  
He started with a Mawile, very atypical considering it neither evolved nor had exceptional physiology or movepool. Training them was rarely worth the effort.  
  
Following this, the kid had proceeded to capture a shellder.  
  
Brock wasn't sure what to think of that. Wouldn't a kid taught by a former champion make better choices? That, or it was some form of teenage rebellion.  
  
He didn't know which was worse.  
  
Regardless, the kid was definitely interesting. Because he had taken his team of a Mawile and a Shellder and proceeded to beat a former league participant. Sure she wasn't using her conference team, but a High-Intermediate trainer with a goddamn ursaring had no business losing to a rookie and his Mawile.  
  
Brock had actually called up the Square to check if it wasn't an error.  
  
It wasn't.  
  
The Square had gifted him a Skarmory. One of the finest of its kind. Not something one would normally give a rookie, but the Square wanted to make an example out of him. Proof of their generosity to other trainers at the square, should they be able to replicate his feat.  
  
He was quite familiar with the rest, having spent a significant portion of the last couple weeks caught up in the bureaucratic red tape that followed the Viridian forest fire incident.  
  
And Oak had once again come through for the kid. As per his recommendations, Red Ketchum had obtained ownership of the growlithe, under the pretenses of research material, the sole condition being that all research data to be supplied to Samuel Oak.  
  
Brock snorted. Favoritism at its finest.  
  
Registered as a Field Researcher with all his research expenses compensated through the offices of the Parthenon.  
  
And that wasn't even counting the entire Waterflower matter. The official reprimand against Ketchum's profile was taken down, and a monetary transfer of three hundred thousand was transferred into his account.  
  
Samuel Oak had moved politically. He had called in more favors and pushed more pieces than he had in years, and all because of one Red Ketchum.  
  
The incident about the kirlia and the hazardous event earlier at Pallet Town was proof that the former Champion was not averse to throwing his money to keep things settled.  
  
Brock glanced at the boy's current registered team.  
  
Mawile. Shellder. Skarmory. Growlithe. Scyther... and Gardevoir? How does one even convince a gardevoir to do battle?  
  
Brock hummed a familiar tune as he tidied up the papers on his desk. At the very least the battle wouldn't be boring.  
  
Thank Kukulkan for small mercies._

* * *

**Present Day**  
  
"Before we begin, let me just remind you about the rules." Brock grinned wryly at the challenger in front of him. After all that the teen had supposedly been through, and considering how Samuel Oak seemed to rain down cash and favors where he was concerned, Red was definitely less _statuesque _than he had expected. Sure, appearances were no guarantee of character or competence, but a part of him had expected… more.  
  
He prayed the boy wouldn't prove to be just another example of favoritism.  
  
"As a gym-leader, I am allowed four pokémon, their forms, and moves limited to the mid-intermediate level. As a challenger, you are allowed to use a maximum of six pokémon of varying levels. Substitutions are allowed for the challenger. The battle ends when one of us is left without a pokemon that can battle. Do you consent?"  
  
The teen nodded. Well, at least he was confident. Surprising, considering he was about to face a mid-intermediate bunch of rock-types. Optimistic or overconfident?  
  
Only time would tell.  
  
"As is tradition," Brock cleared his throat, "I will choose my pokémon first." He plucked the first pokéball on his belt. The former Champion was sitting in the reception hall, watching the battle. It wouldn't do to give him a battle that was anything less than spectacular.  
  
"Let us begin," Brock replied exuberantly. He lifted a single pokéball from his belt and was just about to release the pokémon within when—  
  
"Wait a second," Ketchum interrupted, plucking his pokéballs from his belt. Even from the distance, Brock could see three greatballs among the six.  
  
_What's he up to?_  
  
"Can I let my team out here? So they can watch the match?."  
  
_Huh?_  
  
His incredulous expression was probably vivid, given the sheepish expression Ketchum had on his face. Really, who was this rookie, and why was he wasting his time?  
  
"You realize that revealing all your pokémon is giving away a potential advantage?"  
  
Ketchum shrugged. "I only have six, so it's not like this will give you any new information. So… can I?"  
  
A single twitch appeared on Brock's temples. "I suppose that can be allowed. No further distractions, please."  
  
"Thanks," Red gave a grateful nod, before turning to his right and releasing the entire bunch. "Come on out, everyone."  
  
The mawile came out first, and from its expression, it probably didn't like staying within the device. The skarmory appeared next, a nonchalant expression floating on it as it considered its surroundings almost languidly. The Skarmory probably had quite a few wins under its belt, which had given rise to its arrogance.  
  
Hopefully, the kid wasn't over-reliant on one strong fighter.  
  
_Such habits need to be nipped in the bud._  
  
The growlithe was next. Lavenderish fur and a white mane.  
  
Just like he had heard.  
  
Brock wondered what other secrets the creature was hiding, apart from its quick regeneration. Growlithe were pretty fast, but speed was not an issue to him. In fact, he had something tailor-made for the situation.  
  
Then came the scyther— and was that _tension _he could sense on its face? Interesting. Scyther were proud and decisive killers, and seeing apprehension on its face told quite a lot.  
  
Though from what he remembered, the scyther was present at the Viridian Forest incident as well. Being squashed by a golem had a way of crushing the arrogance out of a pokémon.  
  
It would _probably _put up a decent fight.  
  
Brock considered his _army._  
  
Well, _somewhat._  
  
Then came the— a _shellder seriously?_  
  
Was he actually going to use it for a mid-intermediate certification? Brock had to suppress the urge to gawk in disbelief at the trainer's delirious choice.  
  
Well, on his own hands be it.  
  
And finally the gardevoir. The pacifists of the psychic  
  
_This was Oak's protege?_  
  
His previous theory about Oak and his senior researcher bugged his thoughts again.  
  
Shaking his head clear of conflicting thoughts, Brock evaluated the trainer again. He had expected a proper battle. This… This was turning into a joke. A fake presentation that would serve as nothing more than to waste his time. Had the honorable Professor Oak fallen so far as to waste a gym leader's time for something so trivial? And that too at the last moment in such a situation?  
  
It was nepotism at its worst. Still, he would treat this match seriously.  
  
Just like any other.  
  
"Is that," Brock cleared his throat again, "is that the team you're going to be using?"  
  
"...Yeah."  
  
"Fine with me. Let's not delay the battle any further. I'll choose," He nonchalantly tossed the pokéball into the arena between them, releasing the first pokémon. The raw energy coalesced, forming a semi-large pedestal with four leg-like protrusions before the head manifested, quickly followed by the burning, black deposits along its neck.  
  
Carkol.  
  
"I've never seen that pokémon before." He heard the kid comment.  
  
"I'd be surprised if you did," Brock answered. "It's called Carkol. While we do find the occasional one in our coal mines, it's not normally found in Kanto."  
  
The _kid_ nodded, absently before looking back to his team, probably deciding on which member to send out.  
  
The skarmory looked disinterested as ever, while the scyther looked slightly on guard. The mawile on the other hand—  
  
"Mawile you're up! Remember what I told you."  
  
The mawile seemed to murmur something back in acknowledgment before sliding down into the arena. Had this been a rookie battle, Brock would have taken the time to sit the young man down and explain to him why it was such a bad idea. Yes, steel energy was advantageous when trying to break through a rock pokémon's body but that wouldn't offshoot the difference in physique. All it would take was one good hit to take out a pokémon as frail as a mawile was.  
  
But this was a mid-intermediate certification battle.  
  
A test.  
  
As such, he wouldn't be instructive or give advice. For better or worse, Ketchum was on his own.  
  
Speaking of which, the kid hadn't yet instructed the mawile to attack. Unusual, as most rookies tended to try to take the first attack.  
  
Perhaps he was waiting for Carkol to attack to gauge its strength?  
  
It was a little more thoughtful than the average strategy but not particularly great for trainers at his level. In a high-level battle, giving up the initiative could lead to a quick loss. Further, such trainers had several ways of attacking without giving away techniques. The kid was probably too green to know how to bait moves and stratagems.  
  
Either way, the mawile would likely sit around until he did something, so he'd likely have to make the first move.  
  
"Carkol, use Rock Throw."  
  
Carkol gurgled, opening its maw as the flames inside it began to burn brighter than ever. And then, tiny fragments of burning coal were propelled out of its mouth, shooting towards the uneasy mawile on the other side.  
  
_Bait._  
  
The mawile lifted its maw, which had begun to shine brightly, and bared it in front of herself, like a shield.  
  
_Iron Defense. _Brock realized. Localized to the jaw alone, but still strong enough to resist the incoming projectiles.  
  
Interestingly, Ketchum hadn't yet issued a single command. Prior training in tactics?  
  
He briefly considered Oak's hand in this.  
  
No. Way too trivial for someone like him.  
  
"Continue Rock Throw to lock down her position. Follow up with Flame Charge!"  
  
_This should end the battle._  
  
Carkol's flames began to expand out of its body cavity, cloaking itself in a shroud of fire. Its legs began to flatten and a moment later it started rolling.  
  
It wasn't particularly fast, but it would be fast enough.  
  
A burning mass of sentient rocks.  
  
And even now, Ketchum had yet to speak a single word.  
  
What was going on?  
  
A foggy mist began to spread all over the arena. It was initially thickest around the mawile before it expanded, shrouding the center of the arena from everyone's view.  
  
While it was thick enough to cause carkol to miss, the first time, the Mawile was far too conspicuous. Even now he could see her black jaw stand out among the relative obscurity of the mist.  
  
_Caught you._  
  
"Attack the black jaw," Brock ordered. He was quite surprised to see a move as uncommon as Mist being used at all and by a _mawile _of all things. The teen seemed to have a few tricks up his sleeve, so perhaps this battle wouldn't end up as boring as he dreaded.  
  
Though the fact that the kid still hadn't said anything was _weird_.  
  
Either way, it was a pity that the Mist wouldn't serve as a proper distraction. The black jaw was far too easy to spot inside the fog. Perhaps if it had been of a slightly less prominent color, things would be different.  
  
The carkol gurgled, before happily shooting towards the new destination. Carkol weren't capable of overly complex thought and were happy to follow simple commands. The mist had probably confused it, but the new order seemed to dissipate the issue.  
  
It slammed into the black jaw, and found— air?  
  
**SLAM!**  
  
The sudden strike hit Carkol like a freight train. The mist around them deepened.  
  
_Double Team. _Brock realized instantly, _What a crafty little thing._  
  
He glanced at the teen, who had still not spoken, his eyes fixated on the match.  
  
_Very weird._  
  
Even so, there was weird and then there was _weird. _A trainer choosing to apply for a mid-Intermediate certification right off the bat wasn't so much _weird _as it was weird. Same for the former Champion to throw his name around to ease the boy's path to success. But to stand there, and not utter a word, even when his pokémon— a mawile of all things, was facing a pokémon that was practically unheard of in Kanto—  
  
That certainly rang bells of the _weird _category, and Brock didn't know what to think of it.  
  
The intentional use of a shield to indicate a defensive position, followed by a Mist which was then used to set up a single Double Team clone. It was inspiring and unorthodox.  
  
Where most trainers used it as an evasion technique, Ketchum had used it as a way to lure the prey in. As _bait_. And when carkol had attacked the clone, the mawile had _struck_.  
  
"Impressive," Brock praised him with a wide grin. "It's been quite some time since I've been deceived in a battle like this."  
  
"Thanks," Ketchum replied with a soft smile before his gaze returned to the battle.  
  
He had been taking the battle quite lightly so far, but the kid had impressed him enough that he would begin to get a bit more serious.  
  
"Carkol," Brock spoke, "tear the mist down. Flame Wheel!"  
  
The flames around Carkol's body began to spread out viciously like angry serpents, hissing and contorting around each other in a twisted spiral. It increased radially outward before a second layer began to form above it and shoot upwards, creating a dome of flames in the process.  
  
"Burst!" Brock commanded.  
  
And then the carkol let go.  
  
The dome of fire burst out, the spherical dome-shape allowing it to radiate the extreme heat in all directions. The mist instantly vanished— dissipated by the propelled heatwave.  
  
"I've—I've never seen an attack like that before," Ketchum exclaimed in surprise. The skarmory next to him nodded in agreement. At some point, it had pushed itself next to him and was staring at the carkol with a kind of morbid fascination.  
  
"It's called Flame Wheel." Brock grinned. "A specific move tutor for fire-types with greater-than-average reserves."  
  
"Wow," Ketchum breathed softly.  
  
Back on the battlefield, the mawile seemed to be having a bad time. The sudden heatwave had slammed into her hard. Its fur was slightly singed, though the brunt of the damage had been held back by the black jaw.  
  
And if Ketchum hadn't heard of Flame Wheel before, it meant that he hadn't planned for it in advance. And yet, apart from the disdain in its expression, there was no change in its mannerisms. No look of desperation, no demand for an order from its trainer. Brock widened his eyes, before swiftly glancing at Ketchum and then back at the mawile.  
  
_This doesn't make a lick of sense. It's been fighting by itself?_  
  
Just what the hell was Ketchum teaching his team to be? A self-dependent battler? And Oak allowed that? Didn't he know about the possible dangers?  
  
"Mawile can you go on?" Ketchum spoke. There was no anger in his voice, just a genuine question out of care for his starter.  
  
The mawile grunted in affirmation.  
  
"Cool it," Ketchum ordered for the first time.  
  
_Huh? Not completely independent I see._  
  
The mawile raised its jaw again, congregating some kind of energy inside it. Carkol had fallen on the ground, with one of its legs crushed from the impact. Clearly that single hit from the mawile's ambush had cost it its mobility. The leg would regenerate, but it would take a few days for that to happen. For now, it was a sitting target.  
  
The attack came, much before Carkol could have gone for a second round of Flame Wheel. The mawile shot forward before slamming its jaw against Carkol's neck.  
  
If only that was all.  
  
A cold wind tore through the arena.  
  
_This is… _Brock realized with a shudder as tiny amounts of frost formed around him.  
  
_Hail._  
  
And then the real attack came in.  
  
A torrent of _ice _shot into Carkol's body cavity, the snowflakes and icy cold wind freezing its insides. The carkol shuddered and roared in pain and agony, but the ice would not be resisted.  
  
Frost formed all around the fire-type, as shards of ice began to rise where once stood burning deposits of anthracite coal.  
  
_First Mist and now this? What the hell kind of a mawile does that?_  
  
"Shake it off. Use Magnitude."  
  
An interesting thing about a carkol's physiology was that its body parts were segmented into layers, and each layer could act independently of the other. The central furnace in the middle provided the superheated flames to all segments but apart from that, the lower regions had several more ways of attack than just flames.  
  
There was a reason carkol was a rock-type after all.  
  
Ketchum may have thought that shutting its mobility down would hand him a victory.  
  
The carkol would teach him not to assume things like that.  
  
The three tiny feet-like projections flipped to a vertical position, before its body began to shake, almost like a vibrating motor. The sudden periodic vibrations began to slowly defrost its core before the rhythm reached a resonance and was radiated out into the ground beneath. The floor shook and hissed and crackled as tiny rock fragments exploded out of the crust, hitting the mawile all over. Hissing in pain, the mawile leaped backward, away from the vibrating pokémon.  
  
It would be of no use. The Magnitude would only get stronger with time.  
  
"That will be enough for now," Ketchum commanded. "Mawile come back."  
  
The mawile looked like she'd rather do anything but.  
  
"Please?"  
  
With an annoyed grunt, the mawile slowly bobbed her head.  
  
Ketchum smiled before raising a pokéball and sucking her into it. The moment that was done, he quickly released her below the stand, allowing her to sit down with the rest of the team.  
  
"You realize, that by recalling your pokémon mid-battle, you have forfeited her right to participate in the rest of the challenge?" Brock asked.  
  
"She has done what she needed to," Ketchum grinned, "Scyther you're next."  
  
With a speed that could only belong to a scyther, the bug zoomed its way into the center of the arena, appearing a little distance away from the carkol.  
  
"Shall we?" Ketchum asked.  
  
"Let's." Brock agreed, "after all—"  
  
The rest of his words died in his throat as a gurgling scream emanated into the air. Brock's eyes moved towards the scyther, who had vanished from its position, only to reappear before the carkol. It then proceeded to pierce its long, lethal scythes into its body— one into its half-frozen core, and the other into the lower segment. Both scythes were imbued with black tendril-like energy that were slowly entering the carkol's body.  
  
_Night Slash. _Brock realized, and with that came another realization.  
  
This battle was over.  
  
"Nicely done," he praised, "carkol withdraws. First point to you."

* * *

Scyther felt the red haze slowly leave him as he stepped back, tearing through the strange rock-type with his scythes. Even after using the technique for a long time, he still couldn't feel but feel the inherent _wrongness _behind it.

He remembered the first time he had managed to use that technique. He had felt the _wrongness _take birth inside him, traverse through his very veins and slither into his victim. It was no poison and yet, his opponent Nuzleaf had begun to slowly squirm. A few seconds later, Nuzleaf was practically shaking, feverish, and spent.

Night Slash.

That was what Paul had called it. Scyther was not unintelligent, so he had quickly connected the inherent wrongness in those blackish tendrils with the name Dark. And from what Paul had told him, the technique was actually _less effective _on Nuzleaf since he was a dark-type himself.

The implication had never been clearer.

The first time he had used it on a victim, it had been a wild nidorino. The poisonous, unruly beast had fallen down, groaning as the tendrils took _something _away from its body, leaving it wasted and spent. Another pair of slashes had followed soon after.

It was the first time he had tasted nidorino meat in his life. Too bitter for his tastes, but it was a novel experience nonetheless

And it was the very same move he had used on this fiery rock beast. Frankly, Scyther had expected it to keel over.

It hadn't.

It was kind of disappointing. Perhaps he needed to perfect this move even further?

He glanced up at Red, fearing to see a shallow appraisal in his eyes. Paul would have been irritated— angry even— at how the rock-type had not immediately crumbled upon the execution of Scyther's most powerful move. Especially after Mawile had paved the way and weakened it significantly in the first place.

Instead, he saw pride.

Red was proud of his performance.

But… _why?_

"Nicely done," said the other man, whom he had recognized as the gym-leader back when fighting as part of Paul's team, "—Carkol withdraws. First point to you."

Scyther grunted distastefully.

"Time for my next," Brock went on, "go Lycanroc."

And then Scyther _stilled._

Scyther remembered it all too well. The quadrupedal wolf with light orange fur with a bright white mane that extended out into spike-like protrusions that could impale anything at short notice. Scyther knew just how dangerous it could be to fight something that could cause a spike to protrude out of its body at random, especially when engaged in a battle of close combat.

He had first-hand experience at getting his ass kicked by such a fearsome pokémon.

But what came out was not a Lycanroc, or at least, not what he remembered facing.

This _monster _before him was a slouched, bipedal wolf, with glowing crimson fur aside from the white mane that furrowed its way through its underbelly, spine, and lower thighs. The mane above its head was raised and folded forwards, forming a shroud around its face, leaving nothing to save its ghastly crimson eyes for everyone to see. The frontal limbs had sharp black claws, promising certain death with a single strike, and finally, a long reddish tail sprouting out from the base of its spine.

The feral creature _howled _with unspeakable ferocity.

His primal instincts rose in response to the challenge and Scyther bared his fangs, his scythes ready for the worst to happen. The lycanroc he remembered had been a quintessential warrior— proud, regal, and calculating. Every single move it made had been purposeful and deliberate— no energy was ever wasted. And throughout the fight, it never once lost its composure.

As befitted a king of a pack.

This one, however, was different. A demented _beast, _whose very aura reeked of mindless slaughter and carnage.

A berserker.

"What kind of pokémon is that?" He heard Red exclaim.

Brock laughed. "It's called a lycanroc. They come in three forms. This particular one is the most… brutal of the lot."

"You mean the others are less powerful than this one?"

Brock laughed. "Not necessarily. This one's simply more brutal with its dealings. I thought it would be a fitting answer to your scyther's… opening statement."

Almost on cue, the stark raving eyes met Scyther's perturbed gaze.

Scyther snarled back. This thing might not have been the regal predator he had fought earlier, but it was still dangerous.

"Lycanroc," Brock commanded, "bring that scyther down."

And _it _attacked.

The beast propelled itself on its feet, stomping its way through, raising a miniature gale of sand and dust with every step, its sharp claws glowing with energies as it slashed towards Scyther.

Being a creature of heightened senses and speed, Scyther dodged the attack, but before he could rest, another slash followed and another and then another— slashes came raining down towards him with every intention to seriously maim, if not kill.

"Accelerock. _Agility_." Brock commanded.

And then the beast went _faster._

_As if it wasn't being a nuisance already._

Still, it wasn't beyond what he could handle. The one he had fought with Paul, had taken him out in a single blow. This… this was still within his capabilities to deal with. Inwardly, Scyther began to wish Red would start issuing orders soon. Unlike Mawile and Skarmory, he was still having trouble with the entire _independent battling _concept. To fight on wild instinct was one thing, but to make logical decisions mid-battle? That was an entirely different bottle of worms Scyther was hesitant to open.

The trainer always had the last word. The trainer always knew _best. _A pokémon's job was to follow its trainer's commands to the fullest. If something went wrong, it was the pokémon's fault for not being quick or capable enough to carry out its trainer's commands to the tee.

There were no two ways about it.

Red, on the other hand, had thrown those preconceptions in the gutter. He had made Scyther perform every single move he knew and then taught him two new skills. Sure, neither had been perfected yet, but that wasn't the point. Instead of ensuring that he knew his position in the hierarchy, Red had pitted Scyther against Skarmory and asked him to fight. The steel avian tended to use different tactics in every fight, and while initially, Scyther thought he was being bullied, he had slowly started to understand that she was in fact, _teaching _him. Every time Scyther found himself in a corner, Red would offer him alternatives, and then allow him to choose between them.

What was even more frightening was that the training had actually begun to pay off.

After his sixteenth fight with Skarmory, Scyther had been _somewhat able _to start deducing her strategy, at least against himself. He had been able to last for fifteen minutes against the indomitable wrath of Skarmory.

The steel avian had never looked prouder of him.

But now as he faced a variant of the same creature that had humiliated him, memories of Paul's training threatened to overwhelm him. Scyther found himself looking back expectantly at Red, _begging _him for orders.

Quickly parrying the next six strokes, Scyther pondered over his next course of action. His natural speed was good enough to dodge almost every slash the lycanroc made, but the Agility/Accelerock combination was making it a lot harder to manage.

And that was because he _knew _how that particular attack seemed to work.

Unlike other rock-types, Lycanroc only had a very thick hide to protect its body. Sure, its claws were thick and could pierce through steel, it didn't need to depend on a rocky layer for defense, unlike other rock-types.

Instead, what made Lycanroc peculiar was their ability to instantly synthesize sharp rock protrusions, and push them out of its fur at will. Any creature that came into close combat with a lycanroc would find itself a target for those rocky spears.

Furthermore, its strong regeneration factor allowed it to ignore minor cuts and wounds making Lycanroc an extremely potent threat.

Scyther knew from experience.

And that was what fighting _Accelerock _was about.

It had learned some kind of pattern, slashing forward with its claws while growing a sharp rocky layer. Then it would use a quick burst of Agility to barrel at him.

Sure, Scyther _could _use his scythes to keep parrying the attack, but all that would do was turn this into a battle of attrition.

And that was something Scyther didn't want to see happening.

Lycanroc was getting faster and faster, its red eyes glaring at him with a kind of primal hunger. It had lost all semblance of strategy at this point and was simply clawing randomly at him. If it wasn't for its bursts of speed, Scyther would have ended it by now.

The gym leader continued to edge his pokémon on. Was accelerock the only move it knew? Apparently he wanted to turn this into a stamina contest. Red, on the other hand, seemed happy to stay _damnably _silent.

"Scyther," Red spoke, surprising the bug. How had Red known that he wanted him to say something? The more he thought he understood him, the more mysterious he found the human. "You know what to do. Weak points. Patterns. Stick to your strengths."

_Reasonable advice. _Scyther concluded, but he still was on his own.

Stick to his strengths, Red had said. As far as he knew, Scyther had always been a creature of speed, regardless of his frail body. Trading blows with a rock type was not the correct answer. Neither was competing with endurance.

No, it would have to be speed. Scyther could go faster still, but beyond a certain point, he would lose control. Agility could push him beyond those limits, but at the same time, it tended to dull everything else.

Going in at full speed would be a gamble, and one that would not end well for him should he lose. Still, he couldn't think of any other way.

Speed was the answer.

Speed had always been the answer.

To defeat this creature, he had to use that one thing he could do better than anyone else.

Just like the creature of the story that Red had shared after one hard day of training. The story of a predator so fearsome that no pokémon ever managed to even _touch _it. With nothing but sheer speed, it had _played _with one of the most dangerous elements of the world. A being so quick that it could race sound itself. A being with such speed that its mere passing could herald death.

An existence that had cemented its position as the fastest being alive.

They called it _Raikou_— he who ran with lightning.

The story had inspired Scyther because it taught him that all he needed to do was be faster than his foe.

Than the beast in front of him.

Scyther ducked and swerved all the way, using short bursts of Agility to dodge Agility. His senses had started to dull, and he couldn't change his direction mid-movement, but it didn't matter. If this worked, he wouldn't need anything else.

And then he swerved, turning his back to the psychopathic raging beast.

Paul would have been furious at such a thought, but Paul wasn't Scyther's trainer anymore.

Red was.

And Red was completely to blame for putting in unorthodox ideas in his mind. Scyther's wings, which were glowing from the activation of Steel Wing, wings, now began to vibrate.

At extreme speed.

Normally Bug Buzz caused a wave a disorienting sound that would generate nausea among those exposed to it. At full speed, it was enough to send a powerful sonic wave that would hit the closest target with physical force. For whatever reason, he had noticed that it wasn't very effective on pokémon with inorganic physiologies, so he had shelved the move for the fight. But now, Scyther was going to try something new.

The Steel coating his wings kept the sound wave trapped within.

Amplified it.

And it grew— doubling, tripling, quadrupling the sound produced allowing a new factor to be introduced.

Vibration.

The gym leader reacted immediately.

"It's charging up a Steel Wing. Use Rock Tomb!"

A three-inch-thick slab of stone shot up from the floor, acting as a barrier between Scyther's wings and the hasty lycanroc.

Unfortunately, what Scyther was using was far more than just a Steel Wing.

The wings _phased _through the rock barrier, cleaving through it like a hot knife on butter.

And then he moved faster.

"Rock Tomb again. Accelerock!"

The Lycanroc had put some distance between them and was setting up barriers.

It did not matter.

The next stone slab cleaved as easily as the first one.

The wings went faster and faster. One could almost see the afterimages of the wings. For that moment, it was like there existed _six _pairs of wings— coated in steel, and vibrating at speeds that shouldn't have been physically possible.

It was time to introduce the _third _component into the equation. Red had taught him how to safely use multiple attacks to complement each other but something like this was a novel experience, even after that ludicrous training Red had put him through.

Agility.

Steel Wing had turned his wings into a blade that could shatter rock.

Vibration had increased its potency by several degrees.

And now Agility _reinforced _vibration, pushing the wings through an extreme frequency. It didn't matter if he'd not be able to control himself any longer.

He didn't _want _control.

He wanted to be _free._

The feeling of absolute and utter invincibility gripped him, and Scyther _let go, _rushing past everything that stood in his way.

And felt his wings _cleave _through the lycanroc.

* * *

It was surreal, watching the entire event transpire before his eyes.

The world hadn't changed, and yet for Red, they seemed to have done so. Everything else seemed to slowly get muted as if he was perceiving a part of his surroundings and rejecting the rest. As if the neurons were firing ten times faster inside his mind, as Scyther's gambit— which had happened within two seconds, seemed to get dragged into ten.

He saw the lycanroc crash into the ground, the crimson glare vanishing from its eyes as it rolled over and fell down like a rag on the ground, splattering blood and gore all around its now unmoving body. Brock had recalled it almost instantly and given it to an attendant that had rushed into the chamber, and taken away the pokéball.

Then his eyes turned to Scyther who let out a wail.

The wings were _still _vibrating as if stuck in a periodic motion that even Scyther was now finding difficult to control. His wings would continue vibrating every now and then, gaining pace before slowing to a standstill. Then it would start all over again.

"Scyther return!" He called out, returning the bug-type before releasing him again beside him. The joints where the wings met the skin were segmented and fractured— probably from the extensive vibration.

"Whatever made you try something like that?" He admonished. "What if you got seriously injured?"

Instead of actually understanding and acknowledging his stupidity like he rightfully should have, Scyther only gave him an awestruck look in return.

For a moment Red was strangely reminded of Shellder.

_Why do I attract all the weird ones?_

He unzipped his backpack that was resting on the floor beside him and took out a potion. "Come over here. This will help with the pain."

And Scyther obeyed, almost like a dutiful child.

There were days when Red wondered why Scyther was so obedient to him. Why was the feral bug-type, something that had all the right in the world to make others _fear _its presence, so full of self-doubt and so desperate for appreciation?

He had deduced that Scyther was once a trained pokémon, given its taste for cooked food and its movepool that was unnatural enough to imply the use of TMs. At first, he had thought that it had been released for whatever reason. Perhaps, it had been outside the trainer's ability to control?

But Scyther did not behave like a rebel or like someone who had escaped.

Scyther behaved like a child desperate for attention.

Who had been _abandoned._

If Red ever ended up crossing paths with Scyther's old trainer, he would make him _pay_.

And that was ignoring his team. Despite their diversity, they seemed to have a strange sort of rapport. Of course, this was boosted by the fact that they could actually communicate. While Mia could help him _synchronize _with Scyther's base emotions it was just that.

Feelings.

The literal thoughts, however, still remained out of his grasp.

"Do you want me to take you to the medics first?"

Scyther nodded, before shaking his head towards the arena before him.

"No— no way. You're not going out there again."

Scyther screeched defiantly.

"You've done your best and you've won the battle. Let the others do their part now."

Scyther grumbled but didn't continue with his resistance.

"Good boy," Red smiled and gave him an affectionate hug, causing Scyther to stiffen momentarily. Red noticed but did not comment. He would have to deal with Scyther's issues more delicately. And to think that he once thought he understood pokémon psychology back then at the ranch.

Then he turned around to face Brock. "Should we continue the battle?"

Brock shook his head. "Let's take a brief recess. We will continue the next two battles after an hour. I need to check up on Lycanroc."

"I'm really sorry about—"

Brock raised a hand. "I don't blame you. Pokémon hurting pokémon during battle is an accepted part of the gym circuit. That said, it was quite a large gambit your scyther made back then. Where did you learn that technique? I assume it took quite a while to master it to that level."

Red opened his mouth but no words came to him.

"...What?" Brock asked, possibly feeling his reluctance.

"This is the first time Scyther used it. I've trained him in Agility, in Steel Wing, and in Bug Buzz. We've practiced multiple techniques simultaneously before too. But something like this… I had no hand in its creation."

Brock stared at him, disbelief etched upon his face.

"...What?"

"Do you mean to say," Red wondered if he was just imagining it or had Brock's voice gone down to a cold whisper, "that your _scyther _created a brand new move, _by itself, _in the middle of a gym-battle, without _any help _from its trainer?"

"... I've faith in my team?" Red tried.

Frankly, he didn't understand why this was such a big deal. Scyther had grown to be that fast. He understood what it meant to move at that speed, and thus, he'd stand the best chance at incorporating the best elements inside him to bring about something novel.

Just like Shellder had done with his Water Bullet, or well… the _strange _new technique that the water-type was currently obsessed with.

Brock's right eye twitched as he glared at him expectantly.

Deciding that the gym leader would not stop giving him the stink eye unless he explained more, Red took a deep breath. "I taught Scyther how to use different moves and abilities together, and made him fight against the rest of my team on his own, without any interference on my side."

"You mean without guidance."

Red opened his mouth and then closed it. He could understand Brock's confusion about it. He couldn't define what he was doing, but it wasn't about making them fight without orders. It was different. It was— was helping them learn to _think _for themselves.

It was a mindset, a frame of mind.

He had tried to explain it to the professor, and he hadn't really understood what Red was going for either. To be honest Red didn't fully understand himself.

It was simply an intrinsic desire, for them to grow, to be able to make their own decisions, not just in battle.

To teach them. It was something that he had never seen eye to eye with the old man on. The professor cared for pokémon deeply. He treated his team with love and affection. But there was always a distinction he made for them. They were _pokémon_.

Not for Red.

To him, they were more. They were his team.

His family.

He wasn't _just _teaching them how to fight alone. Which was why he was finding Brock's question so hard to answer.

"... perhaps." He answered finally as he stared at the gym-leader.

Brock ruffled his own hair in confusion. "I'm not sure if anyone told you, but what you're trying to do," he paused, glancing at the scyther momentarily, " and succeeding to a minor extent, is frowned upon. It's a pokémon's place to fight. It's the trainer's job to guide them through the battle via commands."

"I guide them too," Red retorted, frustrated at the other man's apparent condescension. "I guide them while training. The battle, I let them do it on their own."

"It's not about being able to battle independently. It's about autonomous—" Brock looked like he was about to chastise him for his apparent stupidity, but then the gym-leader composed himself. "Well, it's fine I guess. Maybe you will prove us wrong and it will work for you. We will continue the battle after the intermission. You are permitted to take your scyther to the medics and perhaps meet your sponsor if you wish."

And with, Brock left the chamber, leaving Red to his musings.

* * *

_I should have known better._

Over the course of his fruitful life, Samuel Oak had done many things— some of which were much less glamorous than how the world painted him. The Kanto-Johto mainland beheld, and dare he say so, feared the wrath of the Bogeyman. The one man that had taken down the ruthless regime of the then Champion, and established a new society with better laws, both for people and pokémon. A man who had single-handedly _annihilated _two criminal organizations, and relentlessly kept ending their smaller bases until they were nothing but relics of the past.

People of today's generation venerated him for revolutionizing research through his invention of the pokédex. Two generations ago, a major section of the population would have hailed him as a revolutionary, or worse, a dictator.

Over time, he had completely embraced the mask of the pacifist professor. After decades of wearing the mask, it had started to feel like real skin.

It was why he was completely fine with Gary not wanting to stay under his shadow. Rebellious or not, Samuel discretely did want Gary to grow out of it and create his own legend, separate from the Oak legacy. It was why he allowed his son and daughter-in-law to stay away in Kalos, building their own name and reputation.

Then Red came along.

Perhaps it was just coincidence, but the more days passed, the more he could see _himself _in the boy. That same intelligence, that same unabashed curiosity in the face of the unknown, and the same willingness to accept his faults and learn when the opportunity presented itself. Most importantly, there was the same desire to reject conventions and wholeheartedly embrace a paradigm shift.

It was like looking in an old mirror.

Call him selfish. Call him fearful, but somehow he could see the path that the child was going to take. And he feared the world would not be ready for it. The mysteries of the world were one gargantuan furnace, and Red a thick strap of raw iron ore.

The world was not ready for another Bogeyman. Not yet.

He had jokingly suggested that Red try for the mid-Intermediate certification, expecting the teen to duck out and go for a standard battle, or barring that, try for a low-intermediate certification. It was what any rational person would do. The gap between tiers in the intermediate ranking was huge and there was no need for the kid to attempt it in his first month.

Instead, the teen had leaped up to the challenge, and now from what he had _seen_, how Red had actively _crushed _two of Brock's pokémon without losing a single one or even speaking a _single word_, he could see the rise of a future Champion.

_Vibroblade._

That was the name the teen had decided on for that new technique his scyther had come up with. From what he gathered, it used a combination of a focussed Agility on its wings and Bug Buzz to oscillate the wings at faster and faster speeds. However, instead of releasing the soundwave in a sonic boom, it was kept trapped by the steel wing, rebounding the vibrations.

Amplifying them.

The oscillations trapped within the steel had nowhere to go and therefore began to _magnify_.

Which meant the move got more powerful _every second_ it was held.

The scyther had held the move for a mere three seconds and it cut through multiple layers of slated rock like paper.

Of course, there was the major drawback of recoil. In the mere three seconds, it held the move, it nearly shredded its wings. Oak estimated that it wouldn't be able to hold the move for more than seven seconds without destroying them completely. Of course, with Scyther being a bug with a highly regenerative physiology, that wasn't too much of a problem.

Still, its potential was endless. Oak hypothesized that if the move was held for 6 seconds or longer, the _Vibroblade_ would grow to the point where it could cut through an aggron with ease.

The teen had taken no credit for its creation, but Oak knew better. Wild pokémon could grow strong— stronger than trained pokémon even. It was the truth and he had seen it several times with his own eyes. But there was a reason why pokémon moves developed in a linear fashion, and why composite moves were nearly always created by human innovation.

Pokémon were simply not _programmed _to be that way. In the wild, moves were created as a function of instinct and necessity and not ingenuity.

And yet the teen, in his ignorance and stubbornness, had done it. He had taught a pokémon how to create a move on its own.

And from what Red had told him, this wasn't the first time it had happened.

The teen might not know it yet, but Oak was certain. Red had traversed the line that differentiated a good trainer and a _great _one. He had _always _known that the boy had tremendous potential, that much was given. But to see it with his own eyes—

"I never saw it coming, Delia," he spoke at last. "I thought I had succeeded in pushing him into a different path, but it seems even after fifty years, I have yet to learn my lesson."

"What do you mean professor?" Delia asked, confused by his ambiguous statement.

"Heh!" The old professor laughed. "I doubt I'd be able to explain it to you in coherent terms, Delia. Hell, I don't understand it myself enough. Just call it the ramblings of a foolish man who should have known better and leave it at that."

He stared at the wide screen ahead of him. The hour was over and the battle was going to continue. The battle, in his opinion that would cement the first steps of a new legacy.

The legend of Red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	24. Act 2 - Dust of Dreams | Chapter 7 - The Tragic Life of Brock Pebblemann

"_Old man?"_  
  
"_Hmm?"_  
  
"_I need your help."  
  
Oak looked up from his desk, a small frown on his face. The huge stack of forms sitting on his desk probably had something to do with it.  
  
Maybe._  
  
"_Can it wait?" Oak replied, throwing a distasteful look at the paperwork in front of him." I need to finish this first."_  
  
"_It won't take too long." Red pleaded, "Besides, don't you want some time off from… well, that." He pointed to the stack of papers.  
  
The old professor arched an eyebrow before leveling a flat stare at him._  
  
"_What?"_  
  
"_You realize," The old man began, his eye twitching madly. "That all of this is your fault?"_  
  
"_Huh? Wait you mean all of this is from the Viridian Forest incident?"_  
  
"_Yup," the old man drawled, making sure to roll the 'p'. "The repercussions of that incident as well as dealing with the growlithe, Mia's problems, and a couple of other things. I'm swamped at the moment."_  
  
"_Ah," Red felt himself blush. Looking at the professor now drove home just how much he was doing for him.  
  
Oak burst out laughing. "Fine, fine. What is it ?"  
  
Red bit his lip. "Well, it's kinda..."_  
  
"_Now is when you choose to be embarrassed?" Oak rolled his eyes. "What do you want to know?"_  
  
"_I was wondering if you could help me with Mia's powers."_  
  
"_Well, you didn't interact too much with fairies or psychics on the ranch." The old man nodded. "Why don't you ask your mother though. She is an expert on psychic typing and she has spent several years working with fairies as well."  
  
Red frowned. While it was true that his relationship with his mother had definitely taken a turn for the better, he was still unsure about the limits of their new relationship. Besides, when in doubt, asking the old man was his to-go for situations beyond his control._  
  
"_Well," Red flustered for a moment, "you're Samuel Oak. Surely you know enough to teach me about it?"  
  
Red figured he looked close enough to a sad growlithe when Oak started to chortle at his expense. "Fine I suppose I can, but you should ask your mother about it later. She will probably be even more helpful than me when it comes to this."_  
  
"_I know," Red began, "I just— I just feel a little uncomfortable about it."_  
  
"_The first step is always the hardest," The professor said sympathetically, "but believe me she does feel badly about what happened, and she'd love to help you. Not to meddle too much, but I think you should give it a shot. At worst, you get a lecture with a psychic researcher. What do you have to lose?"  
  
Red frowned. " I'll… think about it."_  
  
"_Good," Oak nodded before shifting into a position Red had mentally dubbed 'teacher-mode'. "Have a seat. Since you want to train Mia, I presume you want to know more about psychic and fairy energy." Oak frowned a moment before continuing. "Well psychic energy is largely understood so it's more probable that you're trying to figure out how fairy energy works. Correct?"_  
  
"_Well between Mawile and Mia, I think I have some ideas about the fairy-typing. From what I gather it's some kind of emotional manipulation and—"_  
  
"_And you have already walked into the pit most scientists fell into when they started studying fairy energy."_  
  
"_... huh?"_  
  
"_Tell me, Red. If Fairy energy is emotional manipulation, how does Fairy Wind work? Or Moonblast. In fact, how does fairy energy ever cause any kind of physical effect."  
  
Red was stumped. He had never thought about it that way. "So… emotional manipulation is… a byproduct of fairy energy? Or an extra effect?"_  
  
"_Fairy energy," The old man began, "can actually have vastly different effects based on how it's manipulated. Emotional manipulation is just a part of a larger number of such effects."_  
  
"_How does that work?" Red frowned._  
  
"_Alright," Oak laughed. "I'll try to explain it more simply. Essentially, the 'Fairy' typing was used to classify a type of energy that consists of three different types of particles, each with their own unique properties."_  
  
"_Which are?"_  
  
"_Gravitons, anti-gravitons, and a third one that is still being studied."  
  
Red frowned. This was beginning to get complicated.  
  
Oak let out a long-suffering sigh. "Between Gravitons and anti-gravitons— The former can be considered to be a tiny little piece of gravity itself. "_  
  
"_So it attracts things? Like the planet?"_  
  
"_Exactly. But it can do a lot more depending on how it is manipulated."_  
  
"_Like what?"_  
  
"_Consider this…. Say you have a balloon inflated with helium. Helium is lighter than air, and therefore it will cause the balloon to float."  
  
Red bobbed his head._  
  
"_Now, what if we add some heavy-weights to the balloon?"_  
  
"_It will sink," Red answered. "The moment it gets heavier than air it will get pulled down."  
  
Oak nodded. "That is one of the most common applications of fairy energy. You can think of a graviton as adding weight to the object. The reverse is true for anti-gravitons. You add them to an object and it becomes lighter."_  
  
"_So it's like adding and removing mass to an object?" Red asked, surprised.  
  
Oak made a funny face. "Not exactly. After the gravitons or anti-gravitons are… disconnected from the object, it regains its original weight. Since mass cannot be added or removed like that, the only plausible explanation is that the particles themselves increase or decrease the effect of gravity on said objects to make them heavier or lighter."  
  
Red felt his mind going into overdrive. "Particles that manipulate gravity…. That's… incredible."  
  
Oak chuckled at his antics. "To be candid, Fairy energy has several more properties, but a significant amount of it comes down to two basic concepts— attraction and repulsion. Push and Pull."_  
  
'_But psychics do that all the time!" Red retorted._  
  
"_They do, and while the result is similar, the mechanisms couldn't be more different if they tried. Say if you want to lift a rock. How do you think a fairy would accomplish that?"  
  
Red cupped his chin. "I'm guessing it would add anti-gravitons to make it lighter. Eventually, if you can make it light enough, it will float."_  
  
"_Top marks!" Oak patted his shoulder. "A psychic on the other hand, would expend psychic energy to firmly grasp the rock, and then lift it using more energy."_  
  
"_Seems wasteful."_  
  
"_It is. In terms of lifting and moving objects, fairy-types tend to get twice the results with half the effort. Think of it like this. Both a bird and a balloon can fly. But the bird needs to flap its wings every second to stay afloat, catch the winds to glide, and in general, constantly expend energy. On the other hand, a balloon floats simply because helium is lighter than air. There is no needless expenditure of energy. Similarly, fairy types do not need to use large amounts of power. Manipulating weight is simply an intrinsic part of the energy itself."_  
  
"_That makes it sound like psychics really got the short end of the straw."  
  
Oak chortled at that. "I can see why you might say that, but consider. While it is more wasteful, their degree of control is far, far superior. Even the most average psychics can perform complex maneuvers, far beyond what most fairies can ever aspire to."_  
  
"_I— I suppose that makes sense," Red muttered thoughtfully. "And the last unstudied particle in fairy energy. That manipulates… emotions?"_  
  
"_That," Oak drew his breath, "is something you will have to ask your mother. Now scram. This should be more than enough for you to work with now._  
  


* * *

  
The hour-long intermission felt far shorter than it was.  
  
Scyther had been admitted to the medical wing of the Gym and Red had stayed behind there the entire time, watching the doctors treat Scyther from the opposite side of the glass wall. He couldn't hear a sound but from the bug's constant attempts to escape the table, it was obvious that he was in a great deal of pain. The doctors had been forced to use some sort of sedative to knock him out.  
  
_He'll be okay. _Red told himself. It didn't help but it did make him feel better.  
  
He then stepped up to the podium, feeling a little better at seeing Brock already standing there on the other side. He wasn't sure if intermissions between matches were a common thing or simply a courtesy from the gym-leader, but he was grateful for it.  
  
No amount of badges were worth putting his team through unnecessary suffering.  
  
"Is this your first time seeing your pokémon get this injured?" Brock offered.  
  
Red bobbed his head. While he and his team had been through hell back in the forest, that had been a do or die scenario. Seeing things get this critical despite being in such a controlled setting was difficult in itself and watching his pokémon perform something so inherently dangerous for the sake of a gym badge left a bitter taste in his mouth.  
  
When he started his journey he had wanted nothing more to be Champion. To challenge Lance and stand at the top. That was before he truly got to _know _his pokémon.  
  
Now? Watching his pokémon get hurt just to win the fight made the gym badge feel significantly less meaningful. It was much easier to imagine victory and ignore the potential damage to the team when you had no emotional attachment to them.  
  
"Are you ready to continue?" Brock asked from the other end of the chamber.  
  
Red nodded his head. He had come too far to step back now. Mawile had done her best, and Scyther had bet everything to secure his victory. Turning back now would be spitting on their efforts, and despite his misgivings, he knew that his team enjoyed the fight.  
  
At least Mawile did. Red tried not to think about why something so small was something so bloodthirsty. Besides, he told himself, Brock was down to two while he still had four members left that could still fight.  
  
Well, three members _and _Shellder but that was beside the point.  
  
"You have demonstrated a great deal of ingenuity in this fight, and if your pokémon are any indication, you have probably worked a great deal to get them to this point. Rest assured that I will not insult you by taking things easy."  
  
"I wouldn't expect anything less." Red fired back. For some reason, Brock's words stung.  
  
Brock nodded before lifting up a pokéball and tossing it into the arena. It hit the floor and released the monster inside.  
  
And Red felt everything _freeze._  
  
The creature in front of him had the appearance of a large boulder, with four muscular hands— the muscles being nothing but layers of super-compressed rock —and two smaller feet from the posterior end. The frontage had something two distinct etchings spread across the rock-surface.  
  
He was pretty sure they were supposed to be eyes.  
  
"Graveler," Red muttered in surprise and fear, automatically taking a step back as the not-so-distant memories of a creature slightly larger than itself came to mind. The creature standing in front of him was no behemoth, but even so, it stood on a respectable five feet, a rather good height for a second-stage pokémon. Its shell had begun to develop polygonal etchings, a signal of its approaching evolution.  
  
This was graveler. A creature that promised death should anyone encounter one on a mountain. Most avalanches could be blamed upon this creature and its proclivity to roll off surfaces. Despite being a rock-type its speed was not to be underestimated— its entire physiology was literally built for rollout.  
  
Red paused. What could he choose? Momentarily he flashed back to the events of the forest when he had witnessed Mawile's helpless expression at seeing the golem's rollout All because of his stupidity. Growlithe would be trampled before he could even perform a single attack and Shellder wasn't even worth considering here. Skarmory… she would be able to avoid its attacks and he was equally confident in her ability to rip through it— mass of compressed rock or no.  
  
Just as he was about to ask her to battle, someone stepped in front of him.  
  
"...Mia?" Red croaked.  
  
He felt a sudden influx of emotion flood his mind. A promise of support. An assurance of victory. An all-encompassing feeling of being _safe, _that everything would be right.  
  
That _she _would make him feel safe again.  
  
And then the lingering emotion flickered out.  
  
Mia stepped forward.  
  


* * *

  
Growlithe was living a dream.  
  
While he had agreed to join up with Red and his merry gang, it was with no small amount of trepidation. Part of his decision had been influenced by his wish to live a life free of shackles and experiments, while another part of him had all but demanded that he stay and follow Red out of an over-exaggerated sense of honor and loyalty.  
  
He blamed his accursed growlithe genes for that.  
  
There was a third part too, one that whispered about the possibilities of power and growth, of how being with Red would allow him to reach his fullest potential. He was still somewhat confused at how being with a _human _would accelerate his own growth but had decided to give the entire thing a try.  
  
From what he had seen, Red could come up with some really inventive ways of torture. Well, the human did call it training but Growlithe was sure that if he managed to outplay Red's sadism, he'd grow a lot stronger.  
  
So yes, staying with humans did confer some benefit. In a sick and twisted sort of way.  
  
And then came the final— and main— reason for him to stay as part of the madhouse.  
  
Mia.  
  
The ravishingly beautiful gardevoir with a melodious voice. She would keep talking about things worthy of her interest— mostly Red— with an incredibly passionate tone, and her behavior was kind and gentle beyond belief. Even her most casual movements had more grace than anything Growlithe had displayed in his entire life.  
  
And she was part of the team.  
  
It would take an army to keep Growlithe from staying close to the love of his life.  
  
And now said love was proving to be even more charming as she stepped forward, ready to face the rock-based monstrosity that lay ahead of her.  
  
To be honest, he really didn't want to fight that thing. This whole 'gym battle' thing reminded him too much of his life at the Rocket base. And so he had kept his head down and tried to seem inconspicuous. Perhaps pretending that he didn't exist would keep Red from throwing him into the deathmatch.  
  
But now?  
  
Seeing his adorable Mia stepping into a warrior's shoes had pushed an entirely different set of thoughts into his troubled mind. His own wish to impress her, to _protect _her. was tugging at his very self. To go ahead and fight in the deathmatch in her stead, and demonstrate how powerful and capable he was.  
  
He considered the graveler standing on the battlefield.  
  
Okay, well maybe not so much as powerful and capable but at the very least he'd demonstrate his ability to endure against overwhelming odds.  
  
He glanced at the graveler again.  
  
Endure against overwhelming odds until he was kicked out? Or perhaps before he was beaten into a bloody pulp? Truth be told, that mass of rock didn't seem like a very agreeable individual.  
  
_But wait— don't go—_  
  
Before he could speak, Mia had _gracefully _levitated herself into the air before daintily stepping into the field, murmuring something under her breath. Growlithe wasn't sure what it was but it _did _sound like she was almost apologetic for taking her time and didn't want her opponent— the absolutely graceless barbarian of a graveler— to take offense at that.  
  
"A gardevoir," Growlithe heard the man Red called Brock speak, "You really are going to use a gardevoir in a fight."  
  
Red nodded, making Growlithe wonder what was going on in the human's mind.  
  
"Very well," Brock continued to talk, "Graveler, use Rollout. Finish it in one strike."  
  
The monstrosity let out a guttural roar before tucking its tiny feet inwards and proceeding to spin _incredibly fast, _with the four hands now acting like four spikes coming out of the powerful boulder as it accelerated towards Mia. So fast was its rotation that even the very ground seemed to crack under its pressure, leaving a storm of broken rock fragments and debris behind.  
  
There was no way a delicate thing like Mia would stand a chance. A part of him wanted to rush out to save her, but even if he did try, he wouldn't be able to reach her in time.  
  
Graveler was just that fast.  
  
The constant whirring noise deepened as the deformed rock creature spun into the air, its hands bent ahead to form a spike-like protrusion and slammed towards Mia—  
  
Not wanting to hear her screams of agony, Growlithe shut his eyes and covered his ears.  
  
…  
  
…  
  
…  
  
There was no sound.  
  
His ears perked, trying to catch any sounds of groaning.  
  
There were none.  
  
Had she managed to escape the rock creature?  
  
He opened one eye, ready to shut it as soon as the tiniest bit of red caught his eye. He doubted he could take seeing his love muddled in blood. A great sense of injustice welled up within him. What the hell was Red thinking? This was a terrible idea to begin with. What if something really terrible had…  
  
Growlithe felt his jaw drop as he gaped at the incomprehensible scene in front of him. The rest of his thoughts had vanished leaving but a single overwhelming conviction threatening to overturn his mind.  
  
_My life is a lie._  
  


* * *

Mia preferred to keep things simple.  
  
As a creature that survived on emotions, her mental constitution was not truly compatible with the innumerable permutations and combinations of _feelings _that the human mind was capable of generating. As such, trying to understand another's thoughts was incredibly taxing for one such as herself.  
  
Emotions, however, were much simpler. Positive and negative. It didn't matter how many forms they came in. Positives were good and thus tasty. Negatives were bad, and every kirlia naturally drew away from a source of negativity. But with her _shift _and the events that had followed after that, her entire constitution had been altered. The fact that she had _comprehended _the impossible had only sped up that metamorphosis.  
  
As far as humans were concerned, she had evolved into a Gardevoir.  
  
As far as she was concerned, she had stopped being a Kirlia.  
  
Now, she was Mia. Just _Mia._  
  
A creature that was anchored to reality itself by one single entity. Her _Red._  
  
It didn't matter what he felt. What _anyone— _human, pokémon, whatsoever— felt.  
  
Good, bad, happiness, or scorn, they were all the same now.  
  
They were all _food._  
  
Sustenance. Nourishment. Power.  
  
And fortunately, she knew _exactly _how to use this power to suit her purposes.  
  
The moment Red recognized the rock creature in front of him, she felt a plethora of negative emotions swirling inside him. He had tried to bundle it and drive it deep within his heart— Red was prone to such foolishness from time to time — but it was of no concern.  
  
Mia had very efficiently dragged it all out and consumed it.  
  
And she knew _exactly _what she had to do. She'd protect Red. She'd dispose of _every _single thing that affected him negatively. As long as she was present, she'd do everything in her power to ensure that Red was happy.  
  
And if it wasn't in her power, well then… well, then she'd _make _it be in her power.  
  
She levitated into the battle arena, feeling a little out of place. The rock creature looked rather stingy and excited for battle. She'd know… she could _feel _it.  
  
A part of her wanted to dig into the creature's rudimentary cesspool of a mind to see what she could find inside but she feared she'd be disappointed. Furthermore, Red had told her to avoid tearing into minds in general, unless she had no choice. Either way, she needed to end the problem swiftly and without further complications.  
  
Simplicity was best.  
  
The graveler tucked its feet and came rolling towards her, ready to crush her beneath its weight.  
  
A ghost of a smile floated on her lips. How interesting! Was this excitement she was feeling?  
  
….Probably not.  
  
The graveler shot up from the ground, using its momentum to push itself into the air, before folding its hands into spokes. Now it looked like a sandslash.  
  
A large, rocky sandslash.  
  
Mia decided that she didn't like it.  
  
Not. One. Bit.  
  
She raised her hand.  
  
_**PUSH!**_  
  
And then it happened.  
  
The moment that simple thought had crossed her mind, a wave of force materialized into the space in front of her. She had been practicing this with Red. It made things lighter. Easier to move around.  
  
To _toy _with.  
  
Mia smiled playfully as she surrounded the creature with her power. And then she started to _push_.  
  
And her power answered.  
  
A crushing, oppressive force materialized before her, pulverizing all the debris that lay before her before slamming into the graveler. The creature _roared _in agony as its body began to fracture, as the rock fragments— once part of its own shell— were shattered and thrown was lifted and tossed around, almost like it was a stuffed toy and not a creature that weighed nearly half a ton.  
  
And then the force sent it flying high up— ten feet, twenty feet, thirty feet—  
  
Forty feet —  
  
And then the force vanished as if it was never there.  
  
And the graveler fell.  
  
Down into the arena. Deep into the earth, creating a large crater at the site of the impact.  
  
Mia frowned. All of that energy for just this?  
  
How… disappointing. Perhaps she should try again?  
  
Her feet lifted off the ground, obeying her very thoughts as she levitated all the way to the center of the battle arena, right above the spot where the graveler had fallen.  
  
There were several cracks running across its form.  
  
And several tiny orifices that looked like they had been created recently.  
  
And yet despite all of that, she could only hear it _groaning._  
  
That wasn't right.  
  
It should have been _screaming._  
  
Her lips twisted into something that was almost but not quite a smile as she looked down at the fallen creature beneath her.  
  
_**PUSH!**_  
  


* * *

  
_This… This is…_  
  
Brock stared wide-eyed at the sight ahead of him. Nothing seemed to make sense any longer.  
  
He was no expert on psychics or fairies, but his work with the Hoenn government and Devon Corp had exposed him to knowledge outside his sphere of work. And anyone that had ever opened a Pokédex entry on gardevoir would have noticed 'pacifist' tagged onto it in big, bold letters. You had a better chance at making a _chansey_ battle another than witnessing a gardevoir staring at anything with so much as a hostile gaze.  
  
And yet here it was, this oddity of a gardevoir— if it could be called a gardevoir in the first place— not just actively fight but _ruthlessly decimate _its opponent. What was worse was the nonchalant expression that remained affixed on its face as it put the fear of a god in his graveler.  
  
And then there was the sheer _power _displayed_._  
  
As a tribe-leader, Brock was no stranger to the use of pure power as a tool to dominate the lesser folk. People like the Champion and the Elite Four were literally powerhouses by themselves— each one of them being a veritable army even when compared to Kanto's finest.  
  
But this? This was different. This was… discomforting.  
  
He glanced at Ketchum. If the boy's personal history was to be believed, this creature had apparently been an ordinary kirlia growing up as a pet in the Ketchum household. How did something like that turn into the _beast _that stood before him?  
  
It even looked different.  
  
At first, he thought it was a mere color divergence. Now though…  
  
Now he wasn't so sure.  
  
He glanced at the conspicuous teen again, mentally running through what he _knew _about the teen and what he was seeing in front of him.  
  
He had a mawile for a starter. A creature so frail that a single hit would be enough to cause grievous injury. And yet it had managed to overwhelm his carkol. Sure, Ketchum had returned the mawile during the match but it wasn't on account of injury. And then that Scyther had ended the battle with a single strike.  
  
Had he been more paranoid, he'd have thought that Ketchum did it just to make a point.  
  
Speaking of the scyther, Brock couldn't help but be impressed with the sheer ingenuity of it all. Between the combination of Steel Wing and some kind of vibration, the scyther had managed to create a terrifying move. He hadn't been able to fully grasp the underlying mechanics behind it, but any attack that could phase through rock like a hot knife through butter was a force to be reckoned with.  
  
And from what he had read in the report, this was a wild scyther that Ketchum had _overpowered _with sheer ingenuity and bug repel. What kind of a newbie did that?  
  
And more importantly, how did he get the scyther to be so obedient? It had barely been a few weeks since the capture and Ketchum spent a significant amount of the time in the hospital.  
  
Something didn't add up.  
  
And that was without taking into account the skarmory, or worse, the shellder. What if that thing magically turned into some kind of savant or something? It was ludicrous but Brock had had a long day and he didn't want to make it worse.  
  
To be honest, he didn't believe Ketchum's words one bit. Making his team fight independently? Creating moves mid-battle? And that too, on his first gym battle?  
  
It was ridiculous.  
  
A much more plausible theory was that Red Ketchum had been training from an earlier age, probably under the excuse of working at a ranch. Why else would the son of a top-researcher at Parthenon work at a ranch of all places?  
  
Samuel Oak was grooming his protege under the guise of a helper boy.  
  
And it made a frightening amount of sense.  
  
The boy had been trained to such an extent that despite using something as weak as a mawile, he had managed to defeat a Conference-level trainer. His taking down of a Team Rocket Executive and then systematically disabling a ferocious scyther spoke volumes about his training before his official journey had even started.  
  
But if that was so, then why the need for this elaborate charade? Who were Samuel Oak and his prodigious protege trying to fool through this ordeal? And why?  
  
It was all conjecture, but Brock couldn't help but feel there was some truth in it. Was it possible that this entire trainer journey was a farce? Why else would a rookie feel so comfortable in trying for a mid-intermediate certification? And that too, from a rock-type gym?  
  
Brock swallowed, before glancing at the team that Ketchum still had available. While the mawile and scyther were now out of the game, Ketchum had three more pokémon. Four if you included that shellder.  
  
Brock stared at it suspiciously. It looked harmless enough, but Brock was sure it had some kind of secret. Why else would the kid be confident enough to bring it to a gym fight?  
  
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Brock considered the gardevoir in the field.  
  
_As long as that thing stays in the field, the other pokémon don't even matter. There's not a single pokémon at the mid-intermediate level that can face it. I have half a mind to hand over the badge right now._  
  
"Uhm, Gym Leader Brock?"  
  
"..."  
  
Ketchum's words broke past his mental tangents, bringing the battleground back into focus. He glanced at the gardevoir that had slowly levitated back to Ketchum. He glanced at the fifteen-feet deep trench in the middle of his battle-arena, with the graveler buried deep inside it.  
  
"...Yes?"  
  
"Won't you continue the battle?" Ketchum asked, obviously feigning confusion.  
  
"Yes, Yes of course. My apologies." Brock hastily returned the graveler back into its pokéball. He was grateful that rock-types were so resilient. Still, Graveler's injuries would take weeks to recover. And even so, chances of its evolution to a golem could have been pushed back by several months.  
  
Brock swallowed, feeling perturbed about the entire situation as he brought forth his next pokéball.  
  


* * *

  
_This was probably a bad idea._  
  
After his brief period of tutelage from the old man on the subject of fairy energy, he had taken Mia to a reclusive location to help her hone her powers. It was there that he had realized what it was that he was training.  
  
From what the old man told him, Mia had roughly six times the reserves of the average Gardevoir— and they were pokémon that already had ridiculously high amounts of fairy-energy. In fact, if not for their reluctance with anything to do with combat, they would be the ideal battlers.  
  
He had thought the professor had been exaggerating at first but seeing his innocent little sister _pulverize _a boulder twice as large as himself simply by placing her hand on its surface had left no room for misunderstanding.  
  
The worst part?  
  
Mia wasn't even using a move.  
  
In essence, all she had done was mold her fairy energy into a brick and throw it at the opponent. At least seventy percent of the energy had missed the graveler completely.  
  
And yet…  
  
Red stared at the ruined gym battle and swallowed hard.  
  
He had called Mia back. Brock had but a single pokémon left, and he had Skarmory and Growlithe to pick up the slack.  
  
_Assuming Skarmory leaves anything for Growlithe._  
  
He glanced at the battlefield, or what remained of it anyway.  
  
_Not an ideal one for the puppy._  
  
Mia had done a very good job of it, or a very bad job, depending on your perspective. There was a large, deep trench in the middle— a clear result of one of Mia's pushes. Seeing her let loose like this made him feel scared and exhilarated at the same time.  
  
Now only if he could keep her from being wasteful and tame all that power. But that was for later. For now—  
  
"Good job, Mia."  
  
He felt her heart soar in happiness at his praise. It was contagious, and soon Red found himself grinning back with equal glee. "Now we just have one more battle and then we're done. I'll get you pastries when we get back to the hotel."  
  
Mia levitated as her hands snaked their way to his neck from behind and grabbed him into a tight hug. Red got the feeling that she wanted a piggy-back ride similar to when she was a kirlia. Unfortunately with her new height, _that _was going to be a problem.  
  
"I doubt I can pick you up any more Mia," He chuckled, seeing her adorable pout. "You're too big for that now."  
  
Her pout only grew more adorable.  
  
Red laughed.  
  
"Ahem!" Brock cleared his throat.  
  
"Ah... sorry," Red answered sheepishly, "let's begin."  
  
"If you are ready," Brock replied, firmly ignoring Red's antics. The gym leader lifted his last ball and held it before him. "This is the last pokémon I'm going to use for this battle. While it is powerful, it is still within the limits of a mid-intermediate battle. Let's see what you make of this. Go, _Rhydon!"_  
  
And then a massive screech threatened to rip apart his eardrums.  
  


* * *

  
Skarmory was a wise and benevolent king. Sure, she had been exiled from the kingdom that was rightfully hers and sure, she had been unable to keep up with her grandfather's legacy but that did not mean she was no longer a ruler. She had lost the battle on that day in Vortigern but she'd be damned before she lost any of her pride.  
  
The realization that bowing down to humans did indeed help in gaining strength, followed by the association of a wonderful trainer and custodian such as Red had only proved her long-deserted father's claims to be true. Skarmory had never been the most skilled, but she had always been powerful.  
  
Red had helped her hone that power and she could see herself reaching incredible heights with him.  
  
Sure she was far away from what she could achieve, but progress was steady and certain. After regaining consciousness at the hospital, Skarmory had cursed herself for being an impulsive fool back in the forest. She had lost almost two-thirds of her steel armor in that suicidal move against the pinsir. Had her grandfather been present, he'd have been utterly disappointed in her. The fact that the thinness of her residual armor brought in a feeling of utter vulnerability didn't help either.  
  
It was maddening.  
  
Truth be told, Skarmory had resigned herself to months of wasted time as she hunted steel-types to help regenerate her armor.  
  
But like always, her trainer came through for her.  
  
She had been treated to a buffet of steel— as any king should. Skarmory didn't know who procured it for her or why but she had ended up assuming that it was either Red or her own glory that had made thee lesser creatures do their best to please her.  
  
As was expected of them.  
  
After a week of constant feeding and rest, along with those medicines the medics had given her, Skarmory had seen the impossible happen.  
  
Her armor had begun to grow. Faster than imagination.  
  
Her armor was thicker now. It shone. She could feel her invincibility return, and all because of those strange little potions that humans made for the sick and the diseased. That and a constantly provided diet of _steel_.  
  
Ever since then, she had run herself ragged, making doubly sure that her armor just as good if not better at protecting her from attacks. She had gotten a wonderful little training partner in the scyther. Being on the teaching side had been… interesting. It reminded her of her sessions with her grandfather back when she had been an enthusiastic child.  
  
Of course, Scyther had much to learn. He was limited, both in mental fortitude and physical strength, but for all his shortcomings, the bug had all the makings of a wonderful retainer.  
  
And any self-respecting king knew just how difficult it was to get good retainers, much less keep them alive. And while Scyther didn't have the invincible majesty of steel he did have good regeneration facilities.  
  
Skarmory considered the current situation.  
  
A Gym Battle. From what Skarmory understood, it was a trial. A worthy test that tested the mettle of the human and pokémon alike. Victory would result in an increase of status while failure would show your inadequacy. That being said, the test itself took the form of a spar— one which Red had stressed upon multiple times was to be not-lethal.  
  
"_No killing_," she remembered him begging the Mawile. "_And once you take the opponent down you come back. And absolutely no trying to eat your enemy." _Mawile had argued for quite a bit but Red had put his foot down— surprising because Red usually tended to yield to the little one's desires. Still, the fact that Red could take command when necessary gratified her— practically proof of his innate qualities of a leader. Skarmory would most definitely be encouraging such behavior in the future.  
  
Scyther on the other hand, clearly missed the conversation. Those vibrating wings were overkill, even for her.  
  
At the very least, she told herself, she could be glad at finding a competent battler.  
  
The fairy, on the other hand, had been… strange. As a physical fighter, Skarmory was well-aware of her vulnerability against ranged energy-based attacks, especially those of the esoteric kind. Fighting an all-knowing-one or worse, an otherworldly one was not something she'd enjoy— though she would not flee from such a battle — and this strange gardevoir ticked all the wrong boxes for her. She doubted if even Red himself understood what _exactly _it was that he called and treated like a sibling.  
  
While Red had his heart in the right place, Skarmory desperately hoped that he wouldn't end up like her beloved grandfather. Betrayed and killed by the ones he held dear.  
  
And then Skarmory's thoughts came to a screeching halt. All of her musings flew out of the proverbial window the moment the other human released his next fighter.  
  
She stared as the energy condensed, seemingly forming into the eerily familiar shape of the one thing she hated the most. Two large stump-like legs formed, with a steel body armor covering the entire underbelly. The hands came next, with the sharpened claws moving out and retracting. A large tail, laden with rock spikes and steel armor, and finally a large head with a powerful steel horn at the apex, giving shape to one of the most formidable rock-types in existence.  
  
Rhydon.  
  
And just like that, the battle arena in front of her vanished.  
  
For Skarmory, the world, nay, reality _itself_ had changed. No longer was she inside the Pewter City Gym. Instead, she was perched on the precipice, holding vigil over her grandfather's cave, ready to defend against any and all invaders. And there, in the valley beneath were a herd of traitors. The accursed nidoking had probably learned its lesson in death, as had those humanoid, vain, muscular beasts. But that one in the center, that _rhydon _that led the herd—  
  
That was the one that irked her beyond anything.  
  
And with due reason.  
  
Invasion and conquest were part and parcel of a king's life. Power attracted more power, but in the process, it also attracted both rivals and thieves. Skarmory understood the former but utterly loathed the latter. This rhydon, it was a quintessential example of a sneaky thief— someone who had taken advantage of her inability to fight against the rhyperior and claimed the entire mountain for himself and his kin.  
  
And he had done so not because he was stronger or more competent, but because Skarmory had gotten injured by the monstrous rhyperior and by the time she had healed enough to fight for her territory, the war had been over.  
  
The Lord of Vortigern was dead.  
  
The Vortigern had a new leader.  
  
She, the real successor, had been outed and exiled.  
  
The usurper Rhydon had looked up, right at _her, _and bellowed. Inferior it may be, but under the protection of the _behemoth— _the rhyperior that _killed _her grandfather —she was powerless to resist.  
  
And so she left.  
  
Despite their strength, they had no way to hold her if she chose to flee— the gift of flight far beyond them. Still, she told herself. It was not fleeing. No she was simply stepping back for now— letting them bask in a false sense of superiority.  
  
She would join the humans.  
  
She would grow stronger.  
  
And then she would come back and crush them underfoot.  
  
Skarmory grinned malevolently as the rhydon in front of her superimposed with the image of the rhydon that pushed her off her mountain.  
  
This time she would not be found lacking.  
  
Raising her wings to answer the brute, Skarmory raised her head and screeched.  
  


* * *

  
For Rhydon, battling at the gym was more than often a troublesome affair.  
  
Not because he was afraid of being hurt or any such inane reasons, but because of an acute fear of disappointment. As his trainer's strongest Mid-intermediate fighter, he'd usually be brought in at the very last moment, usually, after every other member of his group had their chance at the opponent first, leaving only but the strongest for the last. One would think that it would allow him to fight against the strongest of opponents.  
  
And yet, it made no difference.  
  
Rhydon's body armor was strong— stronger than anything he had ever encountered in his life since his evolution from a rhyhorn. Even the greatest metal claw would only scratch his impenetrable hide. Even the mightiest of Water Gun would fail to damage the impermeable surface.  
  
One would think that defeating strong pokémon would feel different when compared to defeating weak ones.  
  
Well, Rhydon knew better.  
  
They fought him, he won.  
  
They didn't fight and he still won.  
  
All it took was one attack and it was always the same.  
  
Disappointing.  
  
Nowadays, he barely even looked forward to battles. Rock-types were slow to grow. But till then, it was a boring life— showing up, feeling disappointed as mighty pokémon came in with their strongest blows, witnessing their disappointment as their skills failed to penetrate his armor, and when they were all but drowning in desperation, he finished them off with a single attack.  
  
Rhydon thought of it as an act of mercy. It was the least he could do when faced with such… inferior beings.  
  
And now he had been called upon once again.  
  
He sighed. He really needed something else to do with his life than deal with such annoyances.  
  
He glanced at the steel avian as it took flight and began circling above him, almost in some desperate attempt at intimidation before it glided in the air and balanced itself a fair distance away from his imposing presence.  
  
Rhydon rumbled in amusement. Birds were annoying but he knew how to deal with them. Something as useless as _distance _had never stopped him from teaching those punks a lesson.  
  
Well, no point in procrastinating. Might as well finish the job he had been given. Then he could get back to his comfortable siesta.  
  
And then he heard his trainer speak out in the background.  
  
"Bring the bird down. Rock Throw."  
  
Ah, the same drill then.  
  
Very well.  
  
Rhydon snorted, raising his right leg as high as he could before _stomping _down on the floor.  
  
Hard.  
  
The entire battle-arena shook in presence of his awesome power, as large chunks of rock were pushed out of the field itself. To be honest, it was much easier than it looked. The field was built to mimic a mountainous terrain and while the boulders on the surface had been blown away— probably in previous battles —the entire field was quite literally made up of his element.  
  
Well, regardless of its difficulty, a job was a job and Rhydon didn't want to deny his trainer of another victory, no matter how irrelevant. With a noble grunt, he slammed his almighty tail against the raised rock protrusions, rupturing them instantly at the point of contact, sending several dozen broken shards of rock flying towards the avian.  
  
Rhydon rumbled again. He knew what would happen next. If the human ordering the avian wasn't quick enough, the avian would suffer miserably against the barrage of stone. If the human ordered an evasion attempt, then Rhydon's next attack would bring the avian to greater ruin.  
  
Really, he'd think they'd know better than to face him. Why just gazing upon his form should be enough for them to fear his awesome power.  
  
The steel avian didn't move.  
  
And the human didn't speak either.  
  
Rhydon snorted. Why his trainer had called upon him to fight such losers in the first place was beyond him.  
  
The barrage of dust and stone slammed into the steel avian with crushing force.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
The avian didn't even move. Neither to evade nor to defend.  
  
It just stayed there, gliding in the air.  
  
Rhydon raised an eye before looking at his opponent more closely. He hadn't bothered before— he couldn't even remember how many birds he had crushed in similar gym challenges —but the fact that it took his attack head-on was enough to warrant interest.  
  
It was… covered in metal? Was this fool for real? Did it honestly think that the flimsy layer of metal it called its body armor was capable of taking his attacks head-on?  
  
Well, he couldn't let it arrive at such a foolish notion now, could he?  
  
He'd have to teach it some _respect._  
  
Carve it into its very body.  
  
"Magnitude, then Rock Throw," Brock commanded in the background.  
  
With another nonchalant grunt, Rhydon stomped his leg upon the ground, feeling for the reverberations that were just waiting for him to push..  
  
And again.  
  
And again.  
  
Hundreds— nay thousands of rock fragments rose up, shooting out of the earth's surface as if paying obeisance to his enormous strength.  
  
And then Rhydon _roared._  
  
The fragments were sent whizzing away, zooming in the direction of the bird pokémon, moving in as a veritable army of rock missiles aimed at the general direction, ready to pierce through anything that was unfortunate enough to stray into their path.  
  
The avian met them face-first.  
  
And it still didn't move.  
  
Bright light reflected off the bird, shining all over its scales and talons. Its entire body was spotless and radiant.  
  
As if _nothing _had happened.  
  
As if Rhydon's devastating attack had meant _nothing._  
  
That was unacceptable.  
  
Brock had made it a point to make Rhydon understand that hitting his opponents with his entire power was an absolute no-no. After all, the other weaklings were fragile and a little too much of his power could damage them for life, if not outright kill them. But this upstart flying above him needed to be taught a lesson.  
  
For once, Rhydon inched towards using some of his more… _interesting _moves.  
  
The avian seemed content to stay in that particular position in the air. Well then, Rhydon would mercifully take her out in that position.  
  
"Spear Field."  
  
Rhydon snorted. Trust his trainer to think along the same lines as himself.  
  
Raising sharp rocks from beneath the earth to skewer its enemy, or as Brock called it— spikes. Rhydon didn't really understand very much about it and frankly, he didn't care. He could feel it— the right kind of stomping in the right place would send a spike flying out from the right point.  
  
Simplicity was best.  
  
But Brock was Brock and that meant making things complicated so his human had come up with something even more complex.  
  
And hard.  
  
And nasty.  
  
Spear Field, he called it. This time, just pushing those pointy rocks wouldn't do it for him. Rhydon had to shape them into thin pointy things that his trainer called _spears,_ and then use a build-up similar to when Brock asked him to use magnitude to shoot them out of the ground. Brock had told him that if done properly, it could make the entire field start shooting these spears upwards at the foe, hence the name— _Spear Field._  
  
Rhydon lifted his leg, feeling the crust beneath him shake, _mold _beneath his fearsome might—  
  
And stomped with a fearsome roar.  
  
And then, right beneath the skarmory, the earth's crust tore open, as a thin, cylindrical _spear _of encrusted rock shot out from the ground, ready to impale the bird through its underbelly.  
  
Personally, Rhydon wasn't too fond of using the move.  
  
Perhaps it was because of the entire 'stabbing-at-a-distance' thing. It was impersonal and left him feeling like he should have done _more. _Prey killed by spikes tended to leave a bitter taste in the mouth, almost like the meat itself was lacking. Afterall, Rhydon had not personally involved himself in killing the prey.  
  
No, crushing them with his own body made the meal far more palatable.  
  
Far more juicy.  
  
Far more satisfying.  
  
And that was what would happen to that poor skarmory. Brock instructed Rhydon to allow his opponents to live. Something about 'following rules' or some equally ludicrous human nonsense.  
  
The spears rose higher— Rhydon could practically see the bird get skewered through its underbelly.  
  
And then the bird _moved._  
  
In one swerve that was apparently _faster _than what Rhydon's eyes could follow, it _slashed _through the spike midway with a single wing, cutting it into two neat halves that dropped onto the floor with a blaring crash. And then it stared down.  
  
At Rhydon.  
  
Smirking.  
  
At him.  
  
As if he was _nothing.  
  
This…. This despicable little…_  
  
Rhydon opened his maw to roar—  
  
A slash of wind, faster than he had thought possible slammed into his face, _slicing _his tongue, injuring the tissues inside his mouth. His roar left forgotten, Rhydon embraced a different feeling as it cried out for the first time.  
  
Pain.  
  
The bird— the damnable bird, smirked again, and for the first time, it spoke.  
  
"Know your place!"  
  
Rhydon was torn between raging anger at the bird's transgression, and groaning as he felt _pain _in what was probably the first time since his evolution. The vulnerable feeling fractured through his mindset of utter invincibility, making him subconsciously take a step back out of reflex.  
  
"Rhydon?"  
  
Was that his trainer? And why was he sounding… afraid?  
  
Rhydon had never heard him speak in that tone.  
  
It felt offensive and Rhydon decided he didn't like it.  
  
"Ketchum?" His trainer went on, "are you planning to attack at all?"  
  
The other human opened his mouth. Perhaps he could speak after all? Rhydon would have snorted if not for the fact that his mind was currently overwhelmed. Who knew that his tongue could hurt that much?  
  
"Skarmory, finish it." The other human spoke simply. The very idea was ridiculous, almost as if _finishing off _Rhydon was something comprehensible in the first place. He was no common geodude eating up dirt, or one of those moles digging in the crust.  
  
No. He was _Rhydon._  
  
Shutting out the pain for a moment, he lifted his head proudly to let it know how showing disrespect like that had damned the bird into a hellhole of prolonged suffering and—  
  
**Uurkk!**  
  
A haze of extreme dizziness hit him, sending him almost reeling back in acute disorientation. His senses seemed to flicker on and off as everything around him began to feel all hazy and—  
  
He could feel something _sharp _in him. Almost like it had— it had—  
  
Stabbed him.  
  
No, that couldn't be right.  
  
He didn't get _stabbed. _He was Rhydon, and yet—  
  
The blindingly luminous blade of steel that had impaled into its underbelly revealed a different story.  
  
As did the impossibly violet blood that was slowly oozing out through the very crack made by the blade, slowly crawling out of his rigid exterior using the blade itself as its path.  
  
Rhydon felt his knees weaken as pain more overwhelming than anything he thought possible broke past the dams of his mind and shattered his psyche.  
  
He could only stare at the image of the bird, still gliding in its place in the air.  
  
He could see its beak move.  
  
And then he heard it say words that he would never forget for the rest of his life.  
  
"_Pathetic."_  
  
And then there was darkness.  
  


* * *

  
Brock stared at the scene in front of him with a certain amount of fascination.  
  
He saw the bird launch an Air Cutter into the Rhydon's mouth— taking advantage of its vulnerability. Smart, but it wouldn't be enough to penetrate its armor. He was proven wrong however, just a moment later.  
  
The skarmory had launched another Air Cutter with one key difference. Riding upon the blade of air was a single one of its metallic feathers_, _reinforced with steel energy. It had impaled his rhydon's underbelly and the fight had ended immediately after.  
  
An unusual move, albeit one that took advantage of the skarmory's physiology.  
  
He momentarily glanced at Ketchum who seemed to stare at the field with no change of expression, almost like he had expected that move to come out of nowhere.  
  
That alone gave a lot more authenticity to the newer theories Brock had found himself entertaining lately.  
  
Brock shook his head. He had no time for conspiracy theories at the moment.  
  
The resurrection event was _days _away, and having his mind messed up by this horrible farce of a gym battle was the last thing he needed.  
  
Without delay, he strode forward, quickly returning the rhydon back into the greatball before walking towards the challenger podium.  
  
_He does look a lot less intimidating up close._  
  
He blinked.  
  
On second thought, Ketchum didn't look intimidating at all. In fact, he seemed like just another rookie— well, a mid-intermediate now, but a young trainer nevertheless, starting out on his customary year-long journey in which he would achieve some form of control over his battling—  
  
Brock shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. He had been fooled once. He'd not be fooled a second time.  
  
Red Ketchum. Samuel Oak's hidden protege.  
  
"Brock Pebblemann," he offered as he extended a hand out to the kid.  
  
Ketchum's lips broke into an uneasy smile as he accepted his hand. "Red Ketchum."  
  
"_Red," _Brock repeated internally. He'd not be forgetting the name anytime soon.  
  
"It was a good fight," Brock praised before probing carefully. "Clearly a result of several months of dedicated training?"  
  
Red seemed to consider his question for a moment before answering. "In a way, I suppose."  
  
Brock's lips thinned. It seemed like he wouldn't be getting a straight answer here. No matter, he could keep his training a secret. Brock really couldn't care less.  
  
Not when he had so much to do, and a heavily injured team to take care of.  
  
Shoving his other hand into his trouser's pocket, he pulled out a single metallic object— an octagonal structure carved out of quartz. It was a symbol of acknowledgment from the Pewter City gym and its leader. Winning it meant a passing knowledge of at least _some _low-level rock-types.  
  
_Though considering what just transpired, I wonder if it's even relevant any longer._  
  
"Here, take it." Without another word, he pushed the badge into the boy's hand. "You'll receive your certificate from the reception and your profile will be updated by tonight. Have a good day."  
  
With that said, Brock turned around and left. Seriously, people his age were journeying, vacationing, and enjoying the prime of his life. And him? He was drowning in paperwork. Surely there were wiser, older people with nothing to do who could deal with all this?  
  
He hadn't blinked when he heard about Viridian's forest fire and he had quickly and efficiently dealt with Samuel Oak who had apparently decided that Pewter was an ideal location to get reinvolved with politics.  
  
He had taken Lance's childish antics in stride and spent a great deal of time and effort to arrange the entire resurrection thing.  
  
But now he was literally stuck with a mostly injured team of mid-level fighters and would need to ensure their quick recovery, while also pondering over Oak's new protege and his strange team— especially that gardevoir.  
  
He didn't even want to think about dealing with the delegates that would be pouring in over the next couple of days.  
  
And of course, the elders of the clan were going to go absolutely nuts over it.  
  
And in the middle of it all, Brock would have to stand and _suffer._  
  
Such was the life of Brock Pebblemann.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	25. Act 2 - Dust of Dreams |  Chapter 8 - The Only Thing That Really Matters

"Alright Mawile, try again," Delia offered. "Remember, hold back on the pressure."

Mawile scrunched up her face, glancing at her _official _trainer out of the corner of her eye. From what she understood, Red's mother was some kind of super-expert on fairies, which Mawile translated as a stellar example of humans pretending to know about things they were clearly incapable of. Apparently, the female had a fairy-type of her own, one that was a _master of fairy attacks _or something along those lines.

Oh, and apparently Mawile— who had been using fairy-energy all her life —was doing it the _wrong _way.

And that was how she found herself being subjected to the rather uncomfortable experience of having yet _another_ human train her on how to do things better.

Mawile glanced at Red again.

Her dopey trainer had been somewhat… subdued after winning that useless fight he called a gym-battle. She could understand though. Mawile, too, had been _appalled _upon finding out that all that training and fighting was simply to win a badly worn piece of metal. She had licked it and it tasted horrible— much worse than the metal ingots Red bought her and Skarmory —and certainly far inferior to the magnificence that were her poképuffs. Hell, even Shellder would probably find it tasteless, and he spent the majority of his time chewing her trainer's _hair_.

Mawile had gotten curious about its taste once, mostly because of the sheer amount of time Shellder spent nibbling on it, and had ended up plucking out one of Red's hairs when he was asleep and tasting it.

It was disgusting.

There was something seriously wrong with Shellder's taste buds. Or, well, Shellder in general, now that she thought about it.

_Still_, Mawile grumbled as she thought back to the gym battle. _All of that training for a measly bit of metal?_

Mawile had expected to receive large boxes filled with poképuffs of new and exotic flavors and days filled with travels and cuddles and headpats. Instead, she had found out that trainers went from city to city, fighting progressively harder gym-battles in return for increasingly worthless pieces of metal.

Mawile honestly didn't know how to feel about that. Only her trainer could fall for such an obvious ploy.

Still, Red had been remarkably silent ever since she had won him his badge. Perhaps he had realized that going to these _gym _things was useless, and it was time to select a new path in life.

It was only natural. Mawile remembered feeling the same when deciding between buying the cocoa-flavored poképuffs and the vanilla-flavored ones.

From what she understood, this was what humans called a mid-life crisis.

"—ready, Mawile?"

Oh, right. The woman had been speaking to her. Though, knowing how oblivious the woman could be, she might as well be speaking _at _her. Seriously, why couldn't Red train her like every other time?

…

…

On second thought, this was probably better than having to deal with the accursed notebook.

Mawile shuddered at the awful memory. Before the gym-battle, Red had gone over everything she had ever done wrong in incredibly excruciating detail. He had also somehow got it into his head that she needed visual reminders about any slip up she might make. This horrible train of thought had then led to her trainer recording their training sessions and snapshotting every instance she messed up on to be saved for all eternity.

Mawile had tried to kill the book three times in the past week alone, but Red seemed to be almost supernaturally aware of whenever she attempted it.

"Mawile! Are you listening? Remember, just the fairy energy. Hold back on the wind."

Come to think of it, at least Red let her take breaks when she was tired. Not to mention, giving her poképuffs when she got things right.

"Come on Mawile. One more try."

Mawile wanted to complain bitterly, she really did. But to her great misfortune, the words came out as an adorable mix of '_mawa-wawi' _or something just as horribly cute.

Seriously, she hated herself sometimes.

Deciding not to procrastinate anymore, Mawile lifted her jaw, slowly condensing fairy-energy into it.

According to the woman, Fairy Wind worked by essentially dividing her energy into two unequal parts. The first, and larger, part was Fairy Energy. The second portion would be released as pressure— a word that the woman seemed to use interchangeably with wind.

She had never really thought about how the move was performed. While using Fairy Wind itself was fairly simple, the past few hours of practice had shown that splitting the move into its individual components was almost impossibly hard.

Mawile scrunched up her face and tried again.

This should have been _easy_. She had been using Fairy Wind since she was a baby. At this point, it was almost instinctual. The energies began to coalesce at the apex of her jaw, her go-to-place to launch her attacks. With a little effort, she gathered the slowly-forming mass of energy and prepared to disperse it in a gust of wind and— 

_Ah right. No wind._

Mawile forcefully separated the portion of the technique she had identified as responsible for the 'wind' and allowed it to simply fade away.

Then, she gathered the remaining, hopefully pure, fairy energy and _pushed_, as hard as she possibly could.

"Mawawawi?"

What was happening? She was positive she had done it perfectly that time. She had formed the tiny ball of energy, exactly like the woman had instructed her to. And yet, the moment she tried to project it outward, the lack of wind energy behind her push had caused the move to… well, collapse.

Right into her jaw.

Which had suddenly become lighter than a poképuff and was fluttering in the breeze, above her head, going left to right and then around in strange circles while tugging at the tip and—

"Mawaaa!" Mawile moaned out. The constant tugging was yanking at her head, trying to lift her off the ground. It was agonizing and—

And then it was gone.

Delia— bless her— had quickly gotten close to her and caught her jaw with her hands, allowing Mawile some respite from the constant tugging and pain. After a few more moments of confirmation that she was not about to let it go free out of some sense of sadistic pleasure, Mawile let out her breath and cooed back.

"The anti-gravitons should have dispersed by now," Delia was saying. "Can you try and move your jaw again?"

Mawile had no clue what the woman was talking about, but she could feel her jaw slowly regaining its usual heaviness, so she consented to the suggestion.

It wasn't like she had an alternative. This was her precious jaw they were talking about. If it decided to go all flighty and leave, then what would she be left with?

_Humans and their stupid experiments._

She looked towards Red, who was watching with a somehow extra-dopey expression on his face. Usually, he would have run over by now. Something was wrong with him and Mawile didn't like it.

She turned back to Delia, who had finally let go of her jaw — which was thankfully appropriately heavy again.

From what she understood, Red had asked his mother to train her and the other fairy in controlling their powers better. Though, from her current experience, the woman was clearly not doing a good job.

Why anyone would want to lighten her precious jaw was beyond her. Actually, now that she thought about it, wasn't the Delia woman a researcher? Someone similar to that Oak person?

Maybe… maybe this was some sort of experiment to see if lightening her jaw would cause her to float away?

Mawile glanced at Red suspiciously. Surely her trainer wouldn't allow that.

...Right? Or was that why he was so pensive?

"Mawile, are you alright?" the Delia woman asked, as if she actually cared.

If she really did give a damn, then she wouldn't be torturing Mawile like this in the first place.

But no, apparently she had to focus on control because she was weak, or had low reserves or something. A claim that was completely false. She had plenty of fairy energy. It was the new teammate, the Mia fairy, that was the freak.

Ordinarily, Mawile would have already drawn a line in the sand and showed Mia her position in the pecking order. But considering her performance at the gym-place, Mawile had decided to leave it for another time. After all, even _Skarmory _had shown some restraint and not immediately tried to corrupt her into some kind of vassal. And that was completely ignoring Growlithe, who was doing his absolute best to avoid her very presence.

No, Mawile decided to adopt a live-and-let-live attitude for now. The Mia fairy seemed strangely fixated upon Red, which was annoying, but Mawile could grin and bear with it.

The fact that said fairy was currently learning from Delia's Mr. Mime— a vicious creature whose sadism knew no bounds —made her feel a lot better about it all.

The Delia woman could be quite mean. Actually, now that she thought about it, so was the Oak person and the Orange girl and just about every other human she'd met so far.

Mawile frowned. She would have to work hard to keep her trainer away from the bad influences the world seemed determined to force upon him.

"Alright Mawile," Delia asked brightly, a veneer of civility concealing her inner viciousness. "Let's try again, shall we?"

Mawile gulped. She wouldn't complain about Red's notebook or teaching methods ever again.

* * *

Red was feeling… odd.

Back when he had gotten past his reluctance to speak with his mother and mustered the will to actively ask her for help, a part of him had expected her to brush him off.

To point him to a text-book, or give him a quick layman rundown on how fairy-energy worked.

Instead, she had been almost… excited that he'd asked.

She had sat him down, and given him a comprehensive, three-hour lecture on the nature of graviton/anti-graviton interaction until he knew more about fairy energy than he had ever thought he would.

And surprisingly, he had _loved_ it. Learning about how things work had always been something he enjoyed greatly— a quality the old man constantly told him was essential in a good researcher.

But more importantly, he had enjoyed spending time with his mother. It made him feel happy and, at the same time, a little bitter.

Still, she was doing her best to make amends, and knowing what happened to her as well as the effect of Mia's own influence— and he still didn't know what to make of that — helped him understand just why she behaved the way she did.

He didn't like it. But he could accept it.

And his mother was going to great lengths to try and bond with him.

She had teleported her Mr. Mime all the way from Pallet Town just to train Mawile and Mia at harnessing fairy energy more efficiently. To him, it had always been the harmless, albeit sadistic pokémon that helped his mom around the house.

It was now that he realized that this was a bonafide elite-tier pokémon.

Red had thought that Mia was powerful when she crushed the graveler in the gym. But Mr. Mime? It was _toying_ with her. Mia was tossing powerful bursts of fairy energy at it and Mr. Mime was basically ignoring them all, simply ripping control of the energy from Mia and sending it back to her in various forms.

Folding it, molding it into screens to impede movement, transforming it into threads that controlled her like a puppet— it was terrifying. Mr. Mime would have likely had no problem crushing the golem back in Viridian forest.

Mia, of course, was having the time of her life. Mr. Mime seemed to have taken a liking to her— something he personally found unfair, considering the sheer number of times it had slapped him awake at home — and was teaching her remarkably gently.

Mawile, on the other hand, was a different story. While Mia had reserves that bordered on ridiculous, Mawile's were far more pitiful, which meant that she would have to play the efficiency game— To obtain maximum results with minimal energy.

He had spent quite a lot of time watching videos of fairy pokémon battling before he arrived at a solution. One of the videos that stuck with him was about Argent, an elite trainer that was constantly beating his foes with his altaria. And while the victories themselves were not particularly interesting to Red, just _how_ the man had won had impressed him.

The altaria was constantly manipulating its own weight using fairy energy. Combined with the natural buoyancy of the cloud-like vapors surrounding it, the pokémon was literally bouncing across the field. Not only was it constantly adjusting its own weight to maximize speed, but it was also altering its opponent's weight.

While Mawile could not replicate that entirely, or at least not yet, Red had wanted her to learn something similar. To be able to modify her weight when she wanted to reduce impact and increase mobility. Plus, Mawile seemed to like hitting things with her jaw. If she was able to massively increase its weight right before it hit…

Red shuddered.

She would become an absolute nightmare to fight.

Unfortunately, he didn't know very much about how to go about actually teaching Mawile how to do that, which was why he was watching his mother train Mawile so attentively. She had instantly agreed, and had spent several hours training Mawile so far.

Still, his mother wouldn't be around forever, which meant that he would have to learn as much as possible so he could be an adequate teacher for Mawile.

She was small, but she had the potential to be a powerful battler. The last thing he wanted was to hold her back because of his own inadequacies.

"Ah, here you are," the old professor walked up beside him, interrupting his thoughts. "And ready as well. We'll be leaving shortly."

Red looked at the man thoughtfully. "Leaving to where?"

The man only gave him a knowing smile in return. "To meet a friend."

"A… a friend?" Red wondered. Anyone the professor called a friend was bound to be interesting. Though why he wanted to take Red along was anybody's guess.

"Don't be so worried."

Red blinked. "...Huh?"

"Your mother is training Mawile and Mia. It's natural to feel concerned and responsible. It's part and parcel of being a trainer."

Red opened his mouth to tell the old man that he hadn't actually been worried about that, before reluctantly closing it again. The man's assessment wasn't _completely_ off the mark.

"Don't worry," the old professor placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "Delia has trained Mr. Mime well. I've seen its skill first-hand. Don't judge it based on its looks. That thing can whip an elite pokemon into shape."

Red nodded. "Yeah. I had no idea it was so strong."

"Oh, did you think your mother was just some random trainer? Not everyone has the potential to become an explorer, Red."

It was true. Explorers were a rare breed. Most trainers, after going through the League circuit, either ended up with a job under the League or simply changed their careers. Very few had enough lust for adventure to actually become an explorer and live life on the edge. And the idea of an adventure-crazy Delia Ketchum was inconceivable to him.

But the old man also brought up a good point. The League wouldn't allow just _anyone _to be part of an exploration, let alone one led by Samuel Oak. Speaking of which—

"You know old man," Red began curiously, "I don't think I ever asked, but what was the Galar Mission about?"

"Ah," the smile dropped from the man's lips. "That."

Red didn't speak a word, waiting for the man to say more on the subject.

"It was a fool's dream. A quest to find the ruins of the lost kingdom of Ashkanar."

Red frowned in confusion. "Doesn't ring any bells."

Oak laughed. "I'd be surprised if it did. Perhaps you've heard its more famous moniker? Pokémopolis?"

Red looked at him in surprise. Pokémopolis was one of the greatest mysteries of the known world. If he remembered correctly, excavations at the base of Mt. Hideaway had unveiled ruins depicting an ancient empire ruled by some sort of immortal God-King. History books were filled with speculation about the true location of this ancient empire, though no exact region had been mentioned anywhere.

"Are you— you telling me that this Ashkanar is—"

"Pokémopolis, or what we call Pokémopolis. There is a reason, after all, why the Galar region still remains a forbidden zone so many years after its discovery. Ashkanar is a myth for most people in our world, except those that have been there. Or, at least been close to it."

"And you—" Red paused. "You and mom did?"

Oak tilted his head quizzically, as if trying to settle on an answer. "It's difficult to say. We'd reached farther than anyone else, I'd say. And even then, we had help." The old man paused, an indecipherable expression on his face. "In the end, we had to abort the mission."

"Why?"

"To save ourselves," Oak answered bitterly. "Our team had some of the finest explorers Kanto had to offer, but Ashkanar… that was a mistake. Thirteen people in total, and only four of us made it out alive."

"Oh." Red looked at him apologetically.

Oak gave him a mirthless smile. "I suppose it can serve as a warning, that no matter how powerful one gets, some things are best left alone. Even champion-level trainers are no exception to that."

Red's eyes narrowed. "What did you find?"

Oak looked at him contemplatively. "You understand the fascination, don't you? Being a researcher is incredibly interesting. Can something as mundane as being a _trainer_ compare to solving the mysteries of the world?"

Red's eyebrow twitched. Even now, the old man was pushing his agenda. He had already somehow been turned into a field researcher, though Oak had assured him it wouldn't affect his trainer journey. Furthermore, the old man was incredibly happy about it. In the last few days, he had managed to mention Red's new research job multiple times. In _every_ conversation they had.

"What did you find?" Red pressed, unwilling to let the professor change the topic.

"The Baetylus. The House of God. The entrance to what some people believe is the realm of the oldest legendary in existence." Oak paused, as if to let the gravity of what he had just said sink in. "For years, scholars have tried to connect other myths and inscriptions to this God-King. In Sinnoh, they worship Arceus, who they believe created the world. In Kalos, it is Xerneas who serves as the origin of all life. Meanwhile, in Kanto, some groups think that a giant ditto is the progenitor from which pokémon arose."

Red nearly choked at that last bit, the incredulity of the idea unsettling his mind. Quickly composing himself, he continued with a frown, "So… all of these legendaries that created the world… are they all the same pokémon? Each region just gives them different names?"

"Who knows?" Oak shrugged. "We don't know much about legendaries other than the fact that they exist. And, every time they act, they leave wanton death and destruction in their wake."

"That's… terrifying," Red admitted. "The way you talk about it, it seems less like some legendary and more like some eldritch god at work." He glanced towards his mother, who was actively trying to teach Mawile about using fairy energy the right way.

He hoped she'd survive the encounter with her sanity intact.

And without physical injuries for that matter. Mawile tended to be a little snappish when she got irritated.

Exhaling, he tuned out, focusing on the old man's words instead.

"Did you find it?" he asked after a long pause.

"Find what?"

"Pokémopolis. The ruins. The batty-thing?"

Oak chortled. "Baetylus. It means '_navel of the world'_. Though in a different context, it may also refer to an entrance, usually to something very powerful."

"Powerful," Red let the word hang at the edge of his lips for a moment. "Shouldn't you be going for 'holy' or something like that?"

"Our belief in concepts like holiness and piety are quite modern, Red. The concept of _god _in older civilizations was used only in terms of strength or power. Take the Sevii theocracy for instance. They worship the legendary bird Articuno as the Lord of Ice, but to my knowledge, Articuno has never done a single thing that could be classified as _benevolent."_

"Then…" Red frowned, "why do they worship it— Articuno, I mean?"

Oak shrugged. "Because it's powerful? Because it's a legendary being that defies human comprehension? Because it's the nature of living organisms to bow down and step aside for those they consider to be superiors? Take your pick."

"I… really don't know how to feel about that."

Oak gave him a lop-sided grin. "No matter, we've digressed from the topic anyways. Now, the baetylus… we _did_ come across something that greatly resembled what the baetylus could have been. A grand stone arch that lined some type of mausoleum. But it was rather useless."

Red blinked. "A fake?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Oak admitted. "The entire archway crumbled the moment we touched it. Or rather, when Delia touched it, to be specific. We did manage to bring back some pieces from that debris though. In fact, you know that necklace your mother always wears around her neck? That is one of them."

Red was floored. No matter where Delia was, she could always be seen wearing that oddity around her neck. It wasn't even something cool— just a jagged piece of rock, tapering at the bottom with a strange symbol engraved upon it. Red had never found the meaning of that inscription anywhere, so he had simply treated it as a random, fancy trinket and hadn't given it much thought since.

"Did you find out what that legendary was after all?" he asked, after a long-drawn moment of tense silence.

Oak let out a soft grunt. "We didn't. That being said, one of my acquaintances back then had made considerable forays about the Galar continent. In fact, one of the reasons behind my expedition was to recover this man and, if possible, take over the reins of his research." Oak took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Unfortunately, he was already dying when we found him."

"What was his name?" Red asked.

"Atsushi Shirona, a fellow colleague from Sinnoh. In fact, I sent an invite to his family for the Pewter event. From what I've heard, his granddaughter is regarded as a prodigy in every sense of the word."

"A prodigy, eh?" Red mused. As far as pokémon battling went, he had only known a single person of his age that merited such a title.

Gary Oak.

No matter how much of an arrogant ass the boy might have been, Red knew for a fact that Gary was a natural as far as battling was concerned.

_I wonder if she'll turn out to be another blue-eyed asshole._

"But I digress again," Oak chuckled. "Shirona's notes did contain one name, though considering everything…" the old man sported a calculative expression on his face. "Actually, you're an official field researcher now, aren't you? It'll be interesting to see what you think of those writings."

Red wanted to say that he wasn't exactly an official researcher yet, not until the Parthenon sent him his contract. But the professor wasn't really the type to care about semantics, judging from how he was already rummaging through his deceptively large pockets.

It turned out to be one of those pocket-sized tablet things that the man kept on his person at all times. After quickly shifting through the screen, the man flipped it open and showed it to him.

"Tell me what you think," he said with a grin.

"But—"

"Oh, go on. Indulge me."

Reluctantly, Red took the tablet from the professor. On the screen was an old photograph of what seemed to be random scribbles, while a fresh translation was put at the bottom for ease of understanding. Tossing his mother a final glance, Red took a deep breath and started to read.

_ **The phantasma of the night only exists to teach, but none may understand their words. Terror and despair are all that exist for those that have no bodies yet bear teeth and eyes that gleam in shadow.** _

_ **Separate yourself from creation and its ceaseless yammerings. In life it serves no function, in death it becomes food for those that dwell beneath. Take yourself apart, embrace your fear, and dive into the abyss below.** _

_ **It is only when you have lost yourself in the wasteland of unending nothingness, that you will be free.** _

_ **Only then can you take, only then can you eat.** _

_ **There is only hunger in this universe. Devour everything.** _

_ **Be Eternatus.** _

**...**

…

"Well?" Oak asked expectantly. "It is interesting, isn't it?"

"It is," Red answered, his eyes still firmly glued to the passage. "Incredibly so."

"It would take nothing less to move me. This was the basis of our expedition, the reason that our group was willing to stake everything to traverse a forbidden zone."

"That's... incredible," Red looked at the old man in admiration. "Maybe I'll find something interesting like that one day."

"Of course you will," Oak answered imperiously. "You've decided to become a researcher. This is your life now."

Red's eyebrows twitched again.

* * *

Shellder's dream was a simple one: to fill the world with Shellder.

He had taken the first step in doing so when the human, Red, taught him the Double Team technique. In turn, he had planned to repay him by teaching him how to be Shellder.

But now, things were getting out of hand.

True, it was important to dream big, but becoming a shellder was a daunting task in itself. And yet, the number of creatures wanting to become Shellder were increasing faster than it had estimated.

And Shellder didn't know what to think about it.

It had started with Red. The human was nothing if not persistent. He got entirely too excited whenever Shellder chewed on his hair. Sometimes, Shellder wondered why. There were much better approaches to try and become Shellder than trying to imitate seaweed.

Maybe he thought that having Shellder chew upon his hair would increase his mental capacity? It was an odd line of thought, but not an entirely illogical one.

Experimentation was the key to discovery, after all.

The mawile, on the other hand, was a bad learner from the very beginning, though she was nothing if not diligent. Every time she failed to achieve success in a task, she stroked against Shellder's shell, hoping for answers.

Naturally, Shellder did not help her. After all, if it did, how would the mawile learn? Being Shellder was no easy task, and it was only a matter of time before the mawile figured it out. Having a jaw that opened and shut like its shell was certainly progress, but the road was long and filled with obstacles.

But despite their strange idiosyncrasies, there used to be just two of them. Shellder could deal with that much attention.

But now?

Its followers were increasing at an unbearable pace. First, that steel bird that kept banging into everything when it wasn't trying to set itself on fire. Then the speedy one that kept outspeeding itself. After that, the growlithe had come sniffing around. Shellder had seen some of its kind before, though not a purple-shaded one.

Shellder didn't know why they had all come onto his team, but in his attempts to figure it out, he had learned to squeak louder. The human Red had called it _screeching. _Was this screech a louder squeak? Or was a squeak a weaker screech? If so, why not call it _louder squeak? _Perhaps the human thought that Shellder would forget how to screech if he called it a squeak?

Humans were complicated.

And now, the situation was getting even worse.

Shellder had seen the old human peek at him from time to time. Who knew what kind of machinations the human had for Shellder. The growlithe had said that humans were sadistic and cruel beings who made you fight death-matches and put you into evil contraptions that made you feel like you were running and running and yet ended up going absolutely nowhere.

He would have to be careful.

But of all of the awkward creatures that had chosen to aggregate around him, Shellder found the most interest in the newest fairy— the creature that should have been a gardevoir, but who assured him was a mia.

What was a mia anyways? Not even Shellder's limited enlightenment had given it the answer to that question. Shellder had thrown itself into a fountain, manifesting bubble-shellders day and night in the hope of understanding, but the solution still escaped it.

Shellder gazed at the mia in wonder, watching on as it formed planes of light and jumped around in excitement.

It looked rather interesting. Perhaps Shellder should start researching how to be a mia? It might explain the unreal fascination everyone had with being a shellder.

Truly, the path of experimentation was a long and arduous one.

* * *

"_Cynthia dear, don't you think you're hurrying things a bit too much?"_

Cynthia Shirona, age 15, walked up to the side of the expansive deck, calmly watching the sparkling waves of the blue ocean ripple in the light of the midday sun. She had been jittery and slightly self-conscious about being on a cruise ship— this being her first time off the mainland — but the feeling had slowly shifted to casual acceptance and enjoyment.

After all, it wasn't every day that one got to travel aboard the SS Anne.

Around seven hundred feet in length with the carrying capacity of over two thousand, it was one of those indulgences that only the wealthiest could afford. Even gyarados seemed like worms when compared to this gigantic, floating, metal behemoth.

And currently, it was headed for Vermillion City Harbour, off the southern coast of Kanto.

"_You don't understand," the blonde-haired girl tried to explain. "I know Dad wants me to be a trainer like he was, but I don't want that, Nana. Please!"_

_Her grandmother sighed at her, and Cynthia knew it would be futile. This particular conversation always was._

"_You are a natural fighter, Cynthia. Being a warrior is in your blood. Is it really wise to throw that away because of some childish dream?"_

_It was the same argument. Every single time._

Earning money through professional battling. That was what kept the Shirona family among the upper echelons of Celestic Town. Her grandmother, Caroline, was an Unovan by descent, a member of the ancient Blackthorne lineage. She had married an explorer and freelance researcher by the name of Atsushi Shirona, a native of Celestic Town. After a certain incident that led to the man's sudden demise, Caroline and her son had been left to fend for themselves.

The way her grandmother saw it, it was the Blackthorne blood and their natural superiority that allowed her son Zeruel to rise to great heights in the competitive battling scene. He had become the youngest ever ACE Captain, and was well on his way to become the youngest Elite Four member in history.

And, according to her grandmother, Cynthia's own talent was even greater. They had spared no expense in getting her one of the rarest and highest-potential starters in existence— a gible, something that she loved very much.

And it wasn't like her grandmother was wrong. Battling _did_ come easily to her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd lost against anyone of comparable experience.

The problem was that Cynthia did not enjoy battling.

"_I thought my life was about me. My desires. My ambitions. Why can't I be allowed to do what I want?"_

"_You are allowed to, Cynthia, but only when you know better. It is the duty of the parent to steer their child in the right direction."_

And that was that.

Her path was set. She _had _to be a trainer, and a professional one at that.

From a very early age, Cynthia had been captivated by the tiny institute that was once run by her grandfather Atsushi. Over time, she had fallen in love and decided on her path in life. She would become an archaeologist and unravel the mysteries of Sinnoh. She had excitedly taken her proposal to her family, expecting them to support her. But instead, she was met with blank stares and looks of… pity.

"_I'm not interested!" Cynthia put her foot down. "I don't want to be a trainer. I'll finish the league-mandated gym-circuit and then I'm done!"_

"_You'll follow the footsteps of a man that left us with nothing?"_

And therein lay the crux of the matter.

Her grandmother, Caroline, had left everything— her home, her lands, the Blackthorne name— for love. And in return, she got a man who had wasted his life in the pursuit of something he couldn't even properly explain. In her eyes, it had been the Blackthorne blood flowing through her son's veins that had turned him into an illustrious trainer and brought back pride and wealth to the family.

As far as Caroline was concerned, Cynthia was betraying the family with her wishful thinking.

Cynthia understood her family's concerns, she really did. But that didn't mean she was willing to throw away her dreams for the sake of their pride. Did being a Blackthorne by blood mean that she wasn't allowed to have a dream?

And then, when all seemed lost, when her life appeared to be set in stone, a glimmer of hope appeared.

In the form of an invitation letter from the Kanto government.

Signed by _Samuel Oak._

The former Champion of Kanto was a living legend, especially because of his invention of the Pokédex. More importantly — to her, at least —his personal research institute was the Parthenon, a behemoth in the world of archaeological investigation.

The organization had an offshoot in Sinnoh, built near Mt. Coronet. Cynthia had tried her luck in getting an internship program, but unfortunately she hadn't made the cut.

Naturally, seeing a signed invitation from the founder to be a part of some mysterious event, one that promised to change the world, was nothing short of a dream come true.

Opportunities, as her father always said, were like qwilfish. They were often fickle, and if you didn't catch them in time, they'd puff up and stab you instead.

For once, she had no qualms over following through with her father's advice.

That was twelve days ago.

Twelve days since she had quietly packed her bags, took her team, and left Celestic Town. A single bus ride has gotten her to Eterna City, from where she had boarded the SS Anne— the official vessel transporting all invitees from Sinnoh and Hoenn to Pewter City.

And that brought her to the present situation.

Alone, with nothing but her backpack full of clothes, a bit of cash she had saved, her pokéballs, and a signed invitation. One that allowed her free food and board on the SS Anne as it sailed towards the Kanto mainland, all the way to the coast of Vermillion.

The plan was simple. She'd use the invitation to get access to the Pewter City event and try to get an audience with the former champion. With a little luck, she would set something up for herself. Even an apprenticeship contract with the assistant researcher of the Parthenon would be plenty. If not, she could always survive by battling random losers and earning cash.

She had started her journey a little after she turned fourteen, and now she was a High-Intermediate trainer, one of the youngest ever. And while the journey itself had been fun, battling was not. It was too… easy. Too boring.

And now she finally had an opportunity to break free from it all. To be herself, unshackled by the restraints placed upon her by her family.

Really, was it any surprise she had run away like this?

"ALL PASSENGERS ARE REQUESTED TO GET READY!" the crew announced, shaking her from her errant thoughts. "WE ARE ENTERING THE SOUTH KANTO SEA!"

Cynthia stood at the bow of the ship, her fingers tightly gripping the railings as her grin threatened to tear her face open.

This… this was it.

Her ticket to freedom.

"I'm finally here! Parthenon, here I come!"

* * *

The issue with great men and women, as Red had come to learn by experience, was that they were half-insane by nature. So when the professor had told him that the two of them were going on a trip, Red shouldn't have been surprised that he had conveniently left out their uphill ascent— to the top of one of the largest mountains surrounding Pewter City.

With his entire team in tow.

"What are we doing here, old man?" Red irritatedly questioned.

"As I said, we are here to meet a friend."

"I don't see anyone..." Red began before looking around. "Why would anyone want to meet you in the middle of nowhere?"

"You'll see," the professor chuckled. "You know, you've grown far quicker than I expected. When you told me that you wanted to challenge Brock for the certification, I didn't think you'd actually succeed."

"Oh come on, why does everyone—"

"But you proved me wrong," the man went on. "And you defeated him. Soundly, I might add, and using a fighting strategy that most would not dare consider in the first place. You've likely impressed Brock as well."

Red thought back to the Gym Leader's constipated expression at the end of their match. No matter what the old man said, he really didn't think he left a positive impression on him.

At all.

"Of course, the man also believes that you have a death wish, but we both know what you think of that."

Red shrugged. He had had this conversation before, and still hadn't changed his mind about it whatsoever. He was going to train his pokémon to think for themselves during battle and make their own decisions. His job was to guide them when needed, and to pick them up when they faltered.

Nothing more.

Though, why the man was bringing all of this up now of all times, he had no clue.

"Back before you started out on your journey, you asked me if I could have given you a baby charmander from my ranch. I knew you wanted a charmander because it was the closest one got to getting a dragon starter. The fact is, I even had an actual dragon at the ranch. A tiny axew, just a few months old."

"Then—" Red's eyes widened with incomprehension. "You had an actual dragon at your— then why didn't you—" he stopped himself momentarily, remembering where and with whom he was having this conversation.

As it was, Mawile was sitting on the car's bonnet, idly swinging her tiny feet as she listened to their conversation.

"Give you Mawile, you mean?" Oak offered.

Clearly, all concepts of subtlety were wasted on this man.

"...Yes," Red ground out. "Why did you do that? Not that I'm unhappy or anything," he swiftly added. Though it was true. While he'd been initially reluctant about taking her as his starter, she had grown on him tremendously. If he had the chance to choose all over again, he wouldn't change a thing.

Oak smiled. "I know. I doubt there is anyone that would even consider a mawile to be an adequate starter. And with due reason. Despite its unique typing, the mawile species is saddled with a frail physical constitution and low reserves."

Mawile stopped swinging her legs.

Red really hoped the old man would get to the point before Mawile made her first attempt to murder a human.

"Normally, I'd have agreed with that sentiment, but then again, I know _you. _You have learned well from me all these years, so I thought… I thought letting you have a mawile would give you a unique experience. Most trainers with standard starter pokémon only focus on buffing them up with TMs and nutrient supplements, trying to hasten their evolution. With Mawile, you had no such option. You had to teach her to be better, to train her in ways to overcome her natural weaknesses."

He paused momentarily.

"It goes without saying that it was a resounding success. One only needs to look at your trainer history and most recent gym performance. But in fact, there was one more reason to give you Mawile and see how you fared." Oak paused again, looking at him straight in the eye. "I wanted to see if you had the work ethic and the necessary ability to raise a dragon."

Red's eyes widened. Was that what all of this was about?

"Is your friend going to give me a dragon?" he asked excitedly.

Oak chuckled. "Not quite. We have something different in mind. Tell me Red, do you know why a dragon is never considered a starter?"

Red knew the answer very well. It was the reason why he had never asked for a dragon back then, focusing instead on getting his hands on a charmander.

"Because baby dragons tend to be quite weak and require a lot of attention. Furthermore, it can take over a year of growth before they can evolve into their second-stage and develop interesting abilities. And on top of that, they can be very temperamental once they evolve, some of them even attacking their own trainers if they find them unworthy. Not exactly ideal qualities for a starter."

"Precisely," the old man agreed. "And now that you've proved yourself competent enough to train one, both on a personal and a professional level, I have no problems with presenting you with one."

Was… was this really happening? Red almost couldn't believe it. He was _finally_ going to get a dragon! What was it going to be? The axew? From what he remembered, the axew-line were notorious not only for their physical strength, but for their incredibly moody by nature.

On that note, an axew would get along with Mawile famously. That, or they'd constantly be at each other's throats.

He didn't know which was worse.

"Yes, I think it's time you had the dragon-type you wanted for so long. Originally, I thought of getting you a charmander, preferably one with strong draconic ties. But then I decided on something else. So here it is."

Oak took out an Ultraball, distinctive by the yellow U splattered across its shiny dark-gray foreground.

"Is that a—" Red began but the venerated professor cut him off again.

He clicked on the release button letting out an ethereal, energy beam that slowly formed into an overall serpentine form. Three-pronged fins appeared on either side of the head while a white bump formed in the middle of round, blackish eyes that sparkled with curiosity. A singular horn protruded from the center of its forehead, while the underbelly was distinct with its pearly white color, complementing the blue-hued scales covering the rest of its sinuous structure.

The entire creature, easily five feet in length, started to make strange cooey sounds as it twisted through the air.

"That's a… that's a dratini!" Red whispered.

"Yes," Oak stated. "I talked with my… friend, and she is willing to give it to you, should you satisfy her."

"Satisfy her?"

Yes." A large gust of wind began to twist around the mountain top. "She was quite clear on wanting to test the trainer who would be accompanying her child."

Red would have asked more questions, but he was distracted by the massive orange dragon that had begun to descend atop the mountain.

A dragon that he easily recognized. How could he not? He had spent hours playing with it as a child on the ranch.

"Drago," he croaked out. "It's you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> ~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~


	26. Act 2 - Dust of Dreams | Chapter 9 - Enter The Dragon

_The colossal creature in front of him was colored a deep orange, with a cream-white underbelly tapering into a long, serpentine tail. Two large, bony horns emerged from its head, resting on arms as bulky as fully grown tauros. A deep furrow bisected its snout, running from its left eye to its chin— something that only added to its terrifying and awesome stature._

_This was a monster amongst monsters. A veritable giant in the world of pokémon._

_"Red, meet Dragonite."_

_Eight-year-old Red Ketchum stared at the behemoth, his eyes filled with wonder and a healthy bit of fear. The creature's eyes were half-lidded, uncaring of the new human standing in front of it._

_"She's my strongest."_

_"Stronger than Orca?" Red gaped at the outlandish claim. The old man had started his journey with a growlithe, an everyday pokemon which had, over the years, grown to become the terrifying leader of the Professor's entire team and ranch. Orca was fully capable of frightening a nidoking herd into obedience with a single roar._

_In Red's mind, Orca was the exemplar of power. So, what then did that make this pokémon? The old man had just said that it was even stronger? Was that even possible? He barely knew anything about them._

"_Are you sure that Drawgon— Draagont—_

_A scowl marred his young features._

"_Drago," he declared._

_Oak tilted his head to the right, a quizzical expression in his face._

"_Drago," the eight-year-old repeated. "Are you sure that Drago is stronger than Orca?"_

_The giant dragon's left eye twitched._

"_I doubt Dragonite here would prefer her name shortened," Oak offered._

"_Dragon— Dragonite," Red forced, "is such a mouthful. And it's long and sucks to keep saying over and over. Drago's an improvement." His hands on his hips, he met the old professor's gaze proudly, as if he'd accomplished a feat of note. "Drago'll thank me when she's older."_

_The dragon's eye twitched again._

_The old man chuckled. "I think Dragonite would have liked it if you asked for her opinion in the naming process."_

_Red frowned, before turning back to the dragon. "Do you like Gon better?"_

_Another twitch._

"_Either way," Oak interrupted, gently patting the resting dragonite. "I thought I'd introduce you to her today."_

"_Oh." Red paused briefly, before moving towards the dragon. "I'm Red. Nice to meet you."_

_He grinned exuberantly and raised his hands towards the beast's snout._

_And was promptly ignored in the process._

"_Hey! If you're gonna be like that, I'm not gonna visit you again."_

"_I don't think that's possible, Red," the professor chuckled. "After all, you're going to take care of her starting today."_

"_Me?"_

"_Yes, you," Oak stared at him pointedly. "Now that you've learned to take care of smaller pokémon at the ranch, it's time you move on to bigger ones."_

_Red thought of the pineco and rattata in the forest. Of the nidorino and the bulbasaur he helped rear._

_Then he looked back at the behemoth in front of him. Its snout alone was bigger than he was._

_"Your job will be to clean after her, and bathe her every day."_

_Red looked at the old man disbelievingly. It was huge! He'd probably need a blastoise or something to wash it._

"_Think of it as a promotion."_

"_But how do I even—"_

"_There's no need to thank me."_

_Red stared at the old man. That tone was familiar. Very familiar. In fact, he had heard the old man speak exactly like that when his mother had yelled at him for—_

_"This is for rushing in with the ponyta, isn't it?" he accused._

_Three days ago, a group of poachers had broken into the ranch and managed to make off with a couple of bulbasaur. Being the responsible caretaker he was, Red had rushed after them on a ponyta, completely confident in his ability to subdue them. Unfortunately, right before their epic battle in which Red would have totally destroyed them, Kaz popped in and did his psychic things, taking them out._

_Red huffed. Talk about anticlimactic._

"_Why ever would you think that, Red," Oak commented, raising his chin as if the very notion was frivolous to the point of absurdity._

_Before he could voice his opinions about the man's comment, the dragon let out a complaining mewl._

_"Come now," Oak chided, his calloused hands rubbing against the dragon's hide. "Red is young, but he's willing to learn. I'm sure he'll take excellent care of you from now on."_

_Said dragon sniffed disdainfully at Red before looking away._

_Red scowled. He hated it when the pokémon at the ranch looked down at him. He was just small because he was young. He'd show this— this Drago that he was perfectly capable of taking care of her._

_"Don't look down on me," Red told the dragon seriously. "I'm actually very capable."_

_In answer, the dragon raised her long neck, before proceeding to physically look down on him._

_"You…" he fumed. "Just you wait," Red brandished a finger at her. "I'll take care of you so well that you'll have to wipe that smug look off your face."_

_Instead of cowering at his words like she rightfully should have, the dragonite pointed her snout towards him and blew out lukewarm, grayish fumes, sending him into a coughing fit._

_"I see you're getting along famously," Oak declared. "Then it's decided. Red will take care of you from now on."_

_From that day onward, Red would tell anyone willing to listen that he had, in fact, seen a dragonite pout._

* * *

"Drago…" Red breathed, staring at the orange behemoth above him. Massive streams of sand blew around him in the wake of its descent, and yet its wings remained unmoving.

As a child, that had always been amusing to him. After all, if you did not use your wings to fly, then why have them? For a creature that large, its wings were vestigial— a remnant of a dragonair's fins that survived evolution.

For what need were wings when the very air obeyed your every whim?

Dragonite did not flap their wings, for they had no reason too.

And then Drago descended, the mountaintop itself trembling as her massive hindlimbs touched down upon the cliff.

A spectator might have thought it a primal show of power, perhaps a dragon's intrinsic desire to showcase its dominance to all those in its presence.

Those people would be _wrong_.

Red had seen Drago, had taken care of her for several years, and therefore knew better.

The powerful descent, the shaking of the land, the cracks that emerged beneath her feet— it was no show of power or dominance. Those were simply unintentional consequences of its landing.

A shadow loomed over him— Drago's massive frame blocking out the sun as she approached him. Her long neck bowed down until her fuming nostrils were just above his face.

And then, a long, lavenderish tongue swept out of her maw and licked him.

Red laughed good-naturedly. "It's nice to see you too, Drago."

Drago snorted, releasing a gust of warm air over his face.

"And the daily ritual is complete," Oak commented with a chuckle.

Red scratched the dragon's face, right beside her nostrils, with his fingers. Drago snorted again before bending lower to allow him to reach further back. For all her posturing, Drago was a big softie once you got to know her.

"It's been a while, hasn't it," he asked softly. "Have you been well? How's the baby—"

Red _stilled._

"Baby," he croaked again, before twisting his neck towards Oak. "The new dragon… You're giving me _her _baby?"

Oka had a satisfied grin on his face. "Very perceptive, as always."

Drago had birthed a baby three months before his... _incident_ with the pikachu. He knew for a fact that the dratini-line mostly reproduced during the dragonair stage, finding it _supremely _difficult to procreate upon further evolution. _A consequence of their changing physiology,_ the books had said.

Weirdly enough, it was these rare offsprings, bred from the womb of a mamma dragonite that went on to become dragonite of their own in time, usually even stronger than the previous generation. The ones bred from dragonair, on the other hand, simply stopped evolving after their first evolution.

They just stayed _dragonair._

It was a strange twist of nature, though it did explain why despite there being a significant dratini population in the world, the number of _dragonite _could be counted on one hand. In fact, apart from the Wataru, Samuel Oak was the only person in all of Kanto who could boast having a dragonite under his command.

Naturally, mother dragonite were obsessed with their babies— dangerously so. Whenever one of them managed to give birth, that is.

And Drago was no exception.

Red had seen the mother dragon's disposition constantly shift between the casual behemoth that ignored everything and a nigh obsessive mother that panicked at the baby's every movement. Oak had assigned a special group of people to take care of the pregnant mother, so Red hadn't been around her for quite some time.

And so, for Drago to come all the way here, with her baby in tow...

It was humbling.

"You want me to take care of your baby?" he asked, just to be sure. "You know I'm just a—"

"Actually, she isn't _giving _you anything, Red."

"...Huh?"

"You see Drago here," the man lazily gestured towards the colossal behemoth, "like all mother dragons, needs to let her baby go. Let it fend for itself, to fight, survive, and become stronger."

"But it's barely a year old! It should be staying with its mother. Not out with— well, you know, _me_."

"For someone who was so eager to purchase a dragon, you seem to be too willing to throw this opportunity away."

"I'm not," Red refuted. "But training a rookie pokémon and raising a baby are two different things, _professor."_

Drago snorted.

"What?"

The professor shook his head, an appreciative smile adorning his face. "You've got your heart in the right place, Red, but in this case, your information is wrong."

"How?"

"The dragon way of raising a child is... different. They believe in throwing the baby into an obstacle-filled environment so that it can overcome them, gaining strength in the process."

"That— Is that why you always find them in such dangerous environments?"

"Very good," the old man beamed. "Most dratini are found in significantly extreme regions, even in the wild. Deep-sea caves, marshlands, swamps, mountains… places that are a challenge to survive in themselves."

"So that's why you want me to train the baby." Red paused, suddenly feeling affronted. "Wait, so you're saying that _I'm _a dangerous environment?"

Oak laughed at that. "More so, I think it's that the trainer experience provides an environment of battle while still safer than being tossed into the wilderness. Furthermore, dragonite are a lot more protective of their young than dragonair and usually end up secretly trying to follow their young." The old man reflexively winced.

"Bad experience?" Red asked.

"...I don't want to talk about it. Anyway, you've already had a lot of experience with Drago. And, as you've shown with Mawile, you are able to bring out the strength of a pokémon, no matter its stature."

Mawile growled at him.

"...No offense intended."

Red slowly nodded his head even as he picked Mawile up. While she was trying to appear fine, Red could tell she was feeling agitated.

Gently stroking her head, Red considered Oak's proposal. The man's faith in him was both humbling and, at the same time, like a massive weight laid upon his shoulders.

Gazing upward, he met the man's eyes. "Alright. So now what?"

"Drago came here for a reason. To test you. To see if you have what it takes."

"I… see."

He didn't.

It was absurd. There was no way he would be able to put up an even remotely decent fight against her, even with preparation. Even if Mia could magically learn how to focus and control her power perfectly, she'd be lucky to last five seconds.

That was how strong Drago was.

A creature that could outswim a gyarados in its ocean.

An aerial master that could fly circles around a pidgeot.

A behemoth that ruled over any terrain it stood foot in by virtue of its mere presence.

So fighting it head on was simply out of question, since such a thing would only result in failure. And there was no way that Drago did not know that herself. So what was it that she wanted Red to prove?

_What am I missing here?_

"All right," he gave in. "What do I need to do?"

Oak smiled. "It's simple. I'll be standing right there, with Dratini right next to me."

He pointed at the opposite side of the cliff some several hundred feet away.

"Your job is to come and get her from me."

"From you?" Red snorted. "Aren't you a bit… old for a fistfight?"

The professor laughed. "I'm not going to fight you, Red. All you need is to walk up to me, and I'll give her to you."

"...So what's the catch?"

"The _catch,_ is that you'll need to get past her." He gestured towards the dragon.

"_Her?_" Red stepped back. "You want me to face Drago? A Champion-tier dragonite? _Are you insane?_"

"Why yes, I do. And no, I don't believe I am," Oak chuckled. "You are allowed to use everything at your disposal. Nothing is off-limits. All you have to do… is get past her and take this dratini," he smiled, somehow making the benign gesture seem incomparably malicious, "from me."

"Will that be all? You sure you don't want me to sing her a lullaby as well?"

"That would be appreciated, but otherwise unnecessary."

Red suppressed the urge to facepalm. This was a big opportunity—big with a capital B— the likes of which he would probably never get again. Sure, he could spend some cash and buy a dratini, but it would end up a dragonair at best, not a _dragonite._

Furthermore, this was the descendent of _Oak's _dragonite.

The value of something like that couldn't even be measured with money.

This dratini in question was currently twisting and turning and doing somersaults in the air without a care in the world.

All that stood between him and her was a single, impossibly difficult test.

The question was— could he do it?

He glanced at Drago, who was staring at him, a strange gleam in her eyes. An expression that felt alien to him, and yet also strangely familiar. For it was the same expression he had seen when meeting her for the first time, for a different, yet also _impossibly difficult _challenge.

One that was accepted head-on by an impudent, eight-year-old.

And then he laughed. He laughed and laughed and _laughed_, at the sheer absurdity of it all. As his chuckles petered out, Red met the dragon's eyes squarely.

"All these years, and you still don't know better, do you?"

The dragon raised its head, giving him a calculative stare.

"So be it." Red stepped forward. "And stop looking down on me like that." He raised a finger, "I'll show you, just like before. I'll win this test, and I'll prove my worth. Don't be too sad when you lose though. Your baby will be in good hands."

Instead of actually taking his declaration seriously and shivering in fear of another loss as she should have, the ignorant dragon breathed another torrent of fumes towards his face and chortled.

* * *

Mawile was terrified.

She really should have seen this coming. The return of the Oak person in Pewter was the first omen. The arrival of Red's mother and the Mia pokémon was the second.

It was only thanks to her innate talents that Mawile still managed to maintain her hold on Red's life.

In hindsight, it was obvious that everything was about to go wrong. Mawile had simply been too distracted to see it.

And now, she was facing the consequences— consequences that had taken the form of a massive dragon, one so large that it could probably kill her if it stepped on her by mistake. And on top of that, it turned out that Red and the dragon were old acquaintances of sorts.

And now it wanted Red to take care of her baby. As if he didn't have better things to do.

Like taking care of Mawile and cuddling her and buying her poképuffs.

And that was just off the top of her head. If she actually had time to think, Mawile could have come up with a thousand things that Red would rather do than take care of a _baby_.

So yes. Mawile was unhappy about the whole thing.

And if that wasn't an outrageous demand in and of itself, they were actually adding conditions to the chore. The dragon, in its infinite arrogance, wanted to see if Red— _her Red— _was actually capable of taking care of the baby in the first place.

That was like a poképuffs jar wondering if Mawile would throw it away after she went to all the trouble of acquiring it.

Naturally, Red— being the dopey person he was— fell for the scam, making a grand proclamation about proving his worth or some other nonsense.

And now, she would have to face the wrath of this monstrosity for Red.

She glared at the Oak human.

_Sinister indeed._

* * *

"Okay…" Red exhaled. "Okay, I can do this."

He had been given some time alone with his team for his 'customary pep-talk'_, _not that he thought it would help. Skarmory would just give him a bored stare, waiting for him to finish and Growlithe always looked as if he was expecting to be attacked. Mia would get bored within the first 20 seconds, and Mawile— well, Mawile would pay attention as long as she was bribed with poképuffs.

And the less said about Shellder, the better.

The only one that would pay attention was Scyther, who was probably the most well-behaved member of his team. Ironic, because Scyther had actually attacked him back in Viridian Forest.

"Wile?"

Red looked at the five expectant faces and Shellder, who was being… well, _Shellder_, and exhaled. Again.

"Okay, I'm not sure how to say this… well, encouragingly, but this is likely the strongest opponent you will ever face. Drago is powerful beyond imagination."

Skarmory tilted her head to the side as she stared at him _approvingly_ of all things. Despite his words, she looked almost eager to fight.

Mawile, on the other hand, flinched, and did so quite prominently. She was looking distinctly unhappy about the whole situation.

"For me, this is a chance of a lifetime. I may never get another opportunity to raise a dragon with this much potential, and Mawile," —another flinch— "knows just how much I've wanted one on my team."

Scyther gave him an odd look here. He could see a mix of uncertainty, resolution, and a healthy bout of fear in the bug's eyes. Scyther would not step away from the fight, but he obviously recognized that the odds were not in his favor.

Red approved.

"But I'm not willing to make all of you fight her."

His entire team stared at him blankly.

He crouched lower and caressed the lavender tuft of fur on Growlithe's head. The puppy looked at him, his expression wide-eyed.

"You heard me," Red promised. "This… battle is going to be difficult. I promised to take care of you, and I'm not breaking that for anything. You're strong, but you still have a lot to grow before you can face something on Drago's level. Mawile—"

The fairy in question fidgeted.

"Mawile," Red repeated, turning towards his starter with a soft expression. She was doing her best to put on a brave face, to keep up appearances for his sake. "When we started our journey, I know I told you that I wanted to make you fight dragons. But I had never been in a real battle back then, had never realized just how difficult such a fight would be. What's more, I didn't understand just how… personal watching you guys fight and get hurt was." Red chuckled mirthlessly. "I was an impulsive fool."

Taking a moment to compose himself, Red reached over to Mawile and gently stroked her head.

"Mawile… this battle is not for you."

Mawile looked at him, relief and slight anger warring on her face. The latter presumably because of his implication that she was weak and thus unable to contribute.

"Wile!" she began angrily. "Mawawa—"

"Don't be mad at me," Red continued to stroke her head, just the way he knew she enjoyed it. "I'm _not_ saying you're weak. In fact, I'm the one being selfish here."

Mawile looked confused at his statement.

"Watching this battle will be good for you. You've come up with lots of interesting tactics on the spot." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "What I want you to do is observe how Drago fights. Learn from it, and come up with strategies to fight them in the future. For now, let the others fight." He caressed the fairy's cheek. "Will you do that for me?"

Mawile looked like she wanted to argue, though she ended saying nothing. After a long pause, she nodded.

"Thanks," Red gave her a lop-sided grin. "And, someone has to take care of Shellder and Growlithe while I'm busy, right?"

The look of betrayal that Growlithe sent him must have been a figment of his imagination. Nothing else.

He stood up, gazing at the remaining members of his team— Skarmory, Scyther and Mia. "As I said, I'm not going to _make_ any of you fight this battle, but I really want that dratini to join our team." His eyes glinted, "Will you fight with me?"

Skarmory screeched loudly and Scyther made a buzzing sound that Red hoped was acknowledgment. And from Mia came a wave of comfort and the knowledge. A promise that no matter what he would face, she would stand by him.

* * *

_This human is crazy._

Growlithe witnessed Red and his little army proceed towards the behemoth. Of course, seeing the ever-graceful Mia join him had instinctively bothered him, but he knew better. Regardless of her outer delicateness, the fairy was an absolute monster, the likes of which Growlithe wouldn't wish on his worst enemy.

Well, maybe on the white-coats, but that was neither here nor there.

He saw Red whisper something to Scyther and Skarmory, both of whom screeched before taking off to their respective places. That is to say— the bug took an offensive position in front of Red while the bird took to the air, ready to hurl attacks from its favored element. The Mia fairy just hovered beside Red for no apparent reason.

The human took a step forward.

"And so it begins," the other human— Oak something —said from the other side. "Dragonite, why don't you scare them a bit, before you start."

_Scare them? _Growlithe wondered.

Did the old man think they weren't already scared? The dragon was terrifying all on its own, and Growlithe had a sort of morbid desire to see what the dragon looked like when it was actively trying to scare something.

Dragonite stepped right in front of Red, its maw open and ready to emit all kinds of things that were extremely good at making Red and his compatriots _very dead _in multiple ways.

It raised one leg as high as it could, and _stomped_.

The entire terrain groaned as ridges and furrows surged out in all directions, raising rock and dirt into the air as a powerful seismic wave tore through the ground. Every single thing in its path was either blown away or shredded to pieces by the sheer outward pressure.

Growlithe had seen the rhydon perform something similar back at the gym place, but comparing that to this would be likening an ember to an inferno.

Afraid to see his _trainer _and Mia perish in the approaching gust of rock and sand, Growlithe shut his eyes.

…

…

When he opened them a moment later, neither Red nor Mia were there. They were— they were—

Growlithe looked around.

"Up there!" Mawile pointed upward.

"...?" The puppy blinked in surprise. Just how did _that _happen?

Several feet above the ground and completely safe from the attack were Red and Mia. Both of them were… floating?

Growlithe blinked and then shook his head.

Nope. Still floating. What the hell was going on?

"_THERRR!"_

Something incredibly fast had slammed into the dragonite, clashing head-on with its large claws. The scyther slammed its scythes against the dragon's massive arm.

Nothing happened.

Every slash or stab slid off of its scales, and scyther was simply thrown off with a flex of its muscles or a casual swipe of its hand. And the entire time, the dragonite's maw was just within reach. Just a little lower and it could have torn the bug's head right off.

Yet it did nothing.

_It's toying with him, _Growlithe realized. Toying with the fastest thing he had ever seen till date. Was this what Red had referred to as the real monsters out there? Was this what pokémon could become by training with humans?

Scyther screeched, possibly in frustration, and went even _faster._

The dragonite met with on even grounds— speeding up just enough to match the scyther's speed, and yet careful not to overwhelm it with its own.

Black tendrils of dark energy began to accumulate on Scyther's blades, before he screeched and lunged forwards, his scythes streaking towards the dragonite's neck.

_ **CLANG!** _

It did not even manage to penetrate its skin.

With the sound of a roaring gale, a massive orange tail swerved its way from below, aiming for Scyther's abdomen. Growlithe saw the bug attempt to dodge the incoming blow, but the dragon had other ideas.

Moving faster than something that big had any right to, it swept a claw towards Scyther's abdomen.

_ **SHINK!** _

It was interrupted by _steel_.

More particularly, by one of Skarmory's feathers, launched from a well-suited vantage point in the air.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Scyther had shot forward and attempted to wrench through the dragonite's tail, his wings vibrating at incredible speeds— Red had called the maneuver _Vibroblade_.

Dragonite reacted instantly. Before Scyther's wings even touched it, it whipped its tail against the Scyther, bodily tossing the bug away.

A moment later, it extended its wings, probably going to move in for the kill.

_ **WHAM!** _

A gargantuan force slammed into the dragonite, one so powerful that it left behind a massive crater in the ground. For the first time, the dragonite was pushed backward.

By two whole steps.

Growlithe blinked.

"Nice timing, Mia," Growlithe heard Red say, who was still floating in the air like a jigglypuff.

"Excellent coordination between your team members, Red," the old human laughed. "But I'm afraid it won't be enough."

"We'll see about that. Scyther, Skarmory, _go_."

Skarmory screeched out a warcry, and both her and Scyther's wings began to shine brightly. One descended from the skies, and the other emerged from the crust, both aiming to hit the Dragonite with everything they had.

Meanwhile, Mia raised her hands.

And all of a sudden, Red was shooting across the battlefield like a blur. Right towards the older human.

"Huh," he barked. "So he plans on grabbing the dratini himself while the large one is distracted. Pretty good plan, right?"

No one answered.

"Mawile?" Growlithe twisted his neck to look at the devious little trickster.

There was no response, for Mawile had vanished.

* * *

The moment Cynthia saw Pewter City, she knew she had fallen in love.

Built in the cradle of the Mountain of the Moon, it was a dichotomy of the archaic and the modern. On one side, she had the Xaer— the living quarters of the Pewter City natives. It was a feat of architectural ingenuity, a massive citadel carved into the very heart of the mountains.

On the other side was a sprawling sea of lights, a technological hub that made Jubilife City back in Sinnoh look like a backwater hick. Ever since the moonstone's discovery, the Kanto government had begun to invest in the area. Once the Pewter mountain range had shown that it not only provided rare minerals and metals, but also a trove of prehistoric fossils, Kanto had spared nothing in developing it.

Today, Pewter City was a vast research-haven in itself— a holy land for archaeologists and scientists studying evolution alike. And as someone who was incredibly interested in the field, Cynthia couldn't wait to rush into the world of antiquity that awaited her.

Unfortunately, the world itself seemed to be doing its level best to delay that.

"This is taking _forever!"_ Cynthia moaned.

The person beside her giggled into her palm. "This is an international event. It's natural for there to be a lot of security."

"It's been four hours, Rin!" Cynthia scowled. "We're supposed to be important _delegates_."

Rin laughed. "It's a high profile event. We're lucky to be here at all, so what's a bit of a wait?"

Cynthia pouted. She had met Rin on the cruise— a fellow delegate like herself, who had joined in from Hoenn. Her father was a data scientist who was studying the genomic sequences of an ancient creature called Kabuto, and was working in Pewter City itself. Naturally, the man's family had been invited to the event, which meant the girl had gotten her invitation in a similar manner to Cynthia herself.

That alone made her feel somewhat close to the girl.

Furthermore, Rin was a prodigy at battling, much like herself. The jet-black haired girl had a League championship and major tournament victories under her belt and was now striving to become a Mid-Elite trainer. Cynthia, being as fiercely competitive as she was, had challenged her to a mock battle and had the misfortune of facing the girl's glalie.

The resulting massacre had been humbling— this being the first time she had been challenged by someone near her own age.

Sighing, Cynthia turned to her new friend.

"Just— just look at this." She held up her pokédex. "This should be proof enough, right? Then why this?"

She gestured to the large neon sign in front of them.

"The Mountain View Lodge," Rin read aloud. "It's a nice hotel. What's the problem?"

"They aren't letting us in Pewter city," Cynthia snapped. "They're making us stay here to _rest. _We'll only be allowed in tomorrow."

"Well in their defense, they've put us in a five-star hotel while we get through their security protocols. Surely that's better than waiting in line?"

"I really wanted to go in today," Cynthia pouted. Being so close to one of the world's leading archaeological wonders yet unable to enter was excruciating.

"And you can do that tomorrow," Rin placated. "Let's just get to the rooms and sleep, maybe have a nice meal."

Cynthia felt like arguing a bit more, but truth be told, she felt exhausted after the long journey. Not to mention, any further complaining just felt petty.

"Yea… If you say so."

"I know so," Rin promised.

It felt good. Leaving Celestic Town like that to travel to a whole new continent had seemed like an adventure, but she had started to feel homesick somewhere in the middle of the journey. The several week-long journey was big enough to burn off the high she was on when escaping, and everything had begun to feel alien and unfamiliar. Even now, when she was so close to her goal, a small part of her wanted to run back to her father. To _safety_.

Yes, she was a daddy's girl. Sue her.

Rin's presence, in that sense, had been a godsend. Cynthia had found a lot in common with the black-haired girl, happily talking about her grandfather's incomplete research as well as her hopes and dreams to work for the Parthenon. Rin had been completely understanding of her situation, and in the short time they had traveled together, the two had become steadfast friends.

And now, they had finally arrived in Pewter City. With a little luck, everything would fit in place and she'd be free of battling forever, or as she liked to put it— the Blackthorne curse.

To her, this was more than a trip. It represented freedom, which was probably why she was acting so childish and desperate to get in.

_I suppose I can get some rest. It's just one more day, right?_

With small steps, she trudged past the hotel's hallway, making her way to their room.

Silently, she put her hand into her purse to withdraw her ID card— one that functioned both as identification and a room key.

And found nothing.

Surprised, Cynthia ripped the purse off her shoulders and wrenched it open, rummaging through the contents.

Still nothing.

She checked every single pocket, then checked them again. She checked her pants. She checked everything.

There was no ID card.

"What's wrong?" Rin asked.

"I can't—" Cynthia fumbled, "I can't find my ID!"

She went through the motions once more, looking through her bag despite knowing she would not find it.

"I swear— but it's just _not there_."

"Chil," Rin said. "We'll just—"

"Excuse me."

Cynthia turned around and found herself staring at one of the room service staff— a gray-haired man with a goatee, clad in white and teal, the official colors of Pewter City.

"Is there a problem?"

"I've— I've lost my ID."

"A delegate, I take it, miss?" The man asked in a curt tone, bringing out something that resembled some kind of portable holographic device. "May I see some ID please?"

She looked up at the man. "I have my pokédex with me. Will that work?"

The man glanced away, slightly conflicted. "I apologize, miss. I'm new here, so I'm not sure if pokédexes alone are considered legitimate IDs for foreign delegates. We've had a lot of people trying to register through improper channels to get into this event, so the security is a bit—"

"I know," Cynthia put on a brave face, "so what do you need?"

"You could speak to the manager. If you provide your invitation and your pokédex, he can probably verify you with the list of invitees."

"Uhm… sure."

That seemed to satisfy the man. "The manager's office is that way, miss. The second one on the left."

"I'll come with you," Rin offered, gently holding onto her shoulders. Cynthia couldn't help but feel grateful towards the girl. She had done a lot to make her long journey less lonely.

The two of them had just started moving towards the manager's office when the attendant called out again.

"Excuse me, miss?"

"Yes?" Cynthia turned around.

"No, well, I meant your friend." The attendant looked embarrassed.

"Who, me?" Rin asked. "Is there a problem?"

"If you don't mind, I'd like to verify your ID as well."

"Alright," Rin rummaged through her bag before pulling out her ID card, the one given to each delegate on the ship, and handing it to the attendant.

"Thank you."

A moment later, the device let out a small '_beep_' before speaking out in a mechanical voice—

"_Ariana Ortega. Approved."_

The man looked up with a smile. "Thank you for your cooperation. Sorry for the interruption, and have a nice day, Miss Ortega."

"I will. Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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